


promises to come back to you

by revecake



Series: promises made and kept [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Im Jaebum | JB, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Omega Im Jaebum | JB, Organized Crime, like extremely dub con at sm point, please take care, that's right my kinks HAVE gotten worse since the last time you saw me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revecake/pseuds/revecake
Summary: Pineapple weather, someone had once told Park Jinyoung, was a grey and slightly sunny day, always destined to rain right after, but clear up as sweet as lemon-cake with just a hint of sourness.Jinyoung has long forgotten who that was, the smiling boy in the blind dream he's held onto for so long.Then, he meets Im Jaebeom for the second time in his life.-or organized crime, abo setting with long-lost jjp reunion and jackson is also there to make things complicated.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB & Jackson Wang, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung
Series: promises made and kept [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766206
Comments: 40
Kudos: 105





	1. one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is my trash fire and i worked really hard on it and i'm going to commend my efforts but this is still a burning mess. please take it :)  
> enjoy!!

**[_take a hint, don’t let it rain_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YF8vecQWYs) **

Jinyoung takes one glance outside his window and resolves himself to a day best wasted inside. The sky is not the extreme yellow of a full sun on a spread of saturated blue, nor the obvious gloom of clouds foreshadowing a storm. 

It’s just even grey with sunshine filtering through, and it makes the world feel surreal. 

_Pineapple weather_ , someone had told him once with a smile glowing under that same odd, dusty sunshine. Between them, the gentle shadows had hidden the dove cupped in their tiny, scraped palms. Like an old blanket for a child, used with love. 

“Pineapple weather,” is what he tells Yugyeom when his half-brother wheedles and whines after what he’s been staring at all morning. 

“Pineapple weather?”

“Grey with yellow coming through.” He traces the barely-there lattices shifting and forming from wisps of clouds and jeweled spots of sun. _Sweet with hints of sour_ , he recalls, the tip of his tongue barely pressing against his lip, tracing the hint of a smile blurred by memory. 

It’s sweet at first, but when he swallows, there’s an age-old knot that burns too sour in his throat. 

“Well…” Yugyeon hums in a tone that says maybe he more or less gets the kind of mood Jinyoung is in and is willing to work around it. In his good nature, he leans against his hyung’s desk to join in on the brooding session. “It looks like it’ll rain soon though.” 

It’s inevitable, Jinyoung concedes with a tilt of his chin as he considers the shifting day outside again. The clouds always overshadow the sun, and eventually everything sweet sours. 

And that’s all there is to this kind of day, he decides with a kind of merciless bitterness, snapping his heavy blinds shut despite Yugyeom’s surprised protest, despite the heaviness in his chest- 

Like soggy laundry caught in the rain, it’s like his heart never filled out the way it was before, and it’s still there waiting, wrinkled and heavy with old rain-water. 

Later, Yugyeom is still whining about how he always gets that look on his face ( _constipation doesn’t suit your good looks, hyung)_ , how he never wants to do anything “fun” ( _what even makes you happy, hyung?)_. Jinyoung wishes he could say it out loud, and it would be simple enough to return to that day, to find the boy and the broken bird under a pineapple sky. 

But it’s never been simple when it comes to what he wants, so he kicks Yugyeom out of his room and loses himself to the lattices shifting across the sky. 

**_what about me, hyung?_ **  
  


Jackson’s feet are moving faster than his jumbled thoughts, and faster than both is the frantic bird-beat hum of his heart.

When he slams open their office door, there’s too much at once: his panicked hindbrain, heart up to his throat, feet scrabbling at the floor - and there’s Jaebeom-hyung, sitting over his reports, black frames slipping down his nose, black hair falling free to brush against the unmarked expanse of his neck. 

There’s Jaebeom, and as always Jackson wants to be the one to sweep the hair out of his face and make him laugh, loud and surprised and long into the day. 

It’s familiar but jarring, a mess of everything new and old, and all he can blurt out is: “Is that why you’ve been growing your hair out?”

“What?” Jaebeom looks up, blinking, once, twice, slow enough as if he’s just noticing Jackson now, disregarding the rolling thunderstorm of footsteps down the hallway and the door clattering off its hinges. The rest of the division turn back to busy screens, shuffling papers in front of printers and copiers under the pretense of working as they watch another daily scene play out. 

“For - for the,” Jackson stutters as he clenches the words against his lips, somehow afraid that saying them out loud could make them real, and Jaebeom might just disappear into a fine wisp of dust and sunshine right before him.

The older man blinks again, so slow and sleepy in the almost-noon hour, before awareness quickly dawns behind his wide lenses. He makes a show of shuffling his papers into order, placing his glasses over them, and checking the clock over the door with a wide yawning stretch. 

The clock (along with most of their office supplies) is a barely functional relic passed down from other departments that have renovated their space many times over. Everyone knows it tends to run fast by the minute, and even though it’s barely hitting 11:45, Jaebeom intends to use it as his daily excuse. 

He clears his throat, and the rest of the office hastily erupts back into motion. “Youngjae, I think it’s about time to break for lunch,” he announces, trying and failing to catch the other man’s eye. 

“Yes, lunch, go for it.” Youngjae intones with a blandness that implies just how willing he is to ignore his division leader’s silent pleading. 

With another beat of silence, where a frozen Jackson continues to inch closer to internal combustion and Jaebeom’s desperate gaze becomes unbearable over his computer, Youngjae finally gives in. On a good week, at least 4 out of 5 begging attempts are easily ignored, but today is definitely the start of a marginally mediocre one. 

“Yes, we’ll all eat lunch in this room, and we’ll do it for long enough so you can pretend you’re not taking Jackson out to do whatever it is the two of you always do alone.” The rest of the office bustles around innocently, even though Youngjae’s words are a clear command: don’t even bother trying to leave. 

Jaebeom hides his splutter as a cough. “Thanks Youngjae - eat, uh, whatever you guys want to order. Put it under my card.” 

Youngjae grunts, and Jaebeom takes that as signal to haul Jackson bodily out of the room by the back of his neck. 

The door clatters shut after some painful physical correction with the hinges, leaving behind only a familiar headache on Youngjae’s part and the trailing scent of frustration with a hint of lemon-grass sweetness. 

Youngjae turns back to his desk and counts down the seconds in his head: 

“Youngjae-sunbaenim, can I please go to the restroom-”

“Oppa, come on let's just order _kimbap_ for pick-up and pretend to-”

“Shut up, can we all pretend to be normal, functional adults for once and-”

“And what Daehyun, pretend like _we all_ haven’t invested at least a few month’s worth of pay into this-”

Somehow, Youngjae’s headache worsens at an alarmingly exponential rate. “All of you be quiet, we’re ordering pizza.”

He’s met with a chorus of groans and complaints, “ugh, no more, i still have leftovers from last week,” and he snaps over all of them with quickly unraveling patience. 

“Yuqi - pull up the order. We’re eating pizza for the next 45 minutes. In silence.” 

Finally, the dissent dies out with only a few grumbles. The sound of work resumes with a few dragging footsteps and the hum of computer hard drives being roused from ancient sleep. Youngjae pinches at the tightness between his eyes, and tries to find satisfaction in imagining the terrible look on his friend’s face when he inevitably learns about the office betting pool on his relationship with Jackson.

The comfortable soundtrack of office bustle resumes, and finally, finally Youngjae thinks he can settle down to get some work done for the day. 

Then: “Can we at least get some chicken with the pizza?” 

Distantly, from the hall, there’s the sound of something being (1) thrown and (2) broken in quick succession. 

-

Jackson stumbles and stutters out apologies, dragging his feet behind Jaebeom even as the older man keeps his death-grip on the back of his neck. It’s been forever since his hyung has had to scruff him, and the sour-sweet scent of displeasure mixed with honey-fond exasperation is all too familiar. 

It makes him feel like a kid again, where he knows he’s done something wrong but not enough to know what, only that hyung has his back to him again, and he wants to cover it with his own small body and rub away the _worry, frustration, sadness_ with his loud scent. 

He’s so lost in the feeling of age-old guilt that he doesn’t realize the hard grip around his neck has relaxed into the soft, soothing expanse of an open palm. 

“Jackson-ah.” 

“Huh-” Jackson jolts, and the warm weight on his neck falls away, leaving him sweating at the way the cool wind suddenly fills the empty space. He’s still too jumpy, adrenaline singing electricity through him, and the immediacy of his earlier questions rushes from his mind into his mouth like pieces of a collapsing Jenga tower. 

He opens his mouth, pauses at the way they all pile up in his throat, closes his mouth - and tries again. 

When no sound emerges except for incoherent grumbles, Jaebeom only smiles, cheeks dimpling so deeply, and there’s that familiar weight again, ruffling his hair before falling around his shoulder. 

“Lunch first. Then, you can ask me all the questions you want.” 

-

During any weekday noon hour, you could find two men in pressed slacks and slightly ruffled white-collared shirts on the rooftop garden of a small _kimbap_ shop nestled right between the downtown bustle of the city center and the tall, glistening office corners. 

Monday with the sky in lattices of grey and yellow, peeking through with hints of blue, is no different in this regard. Two take-out boxes of _kimbap_ resting between them, iced coffee and light banana milk casting fractured colors over plain rice, and the rooftop wind bouncing their IDs lightly into the air - it’s the very definition of _familiarity._

This time, Jackson doesn’t fill the space with chatter — he doesn’t even know how to start. Instead, he stares at one round _kimbap_ piece and its multi-colored insides before slowly biting off half, chewing, and swallowing it, dry as sand. Next to him, Jaebeom easily fits in the roll with one complete bite. 

Watching him eat with the same enthusiasm, Jackson can’t believe it - the wind carrying the light spice of the rooftop garden around them, him teasing Jaebeom-hyung for his banana milk, the way hyung always smiles until his eyes disappear into pretty folds when Jackson whines for a share - he can’t believe it’s all going to be gone.

At the thought of it, he simply panics.

In a two-way domino effect, Jackson jumps to his feet, knocks his coffee and half his food to the ground, declares loudly, “Hyung you shouldn’t have to - to prostitute yourself just because the higher-ups said so!” and off-white milk comes shooting out of Jaebeom’s nose, landing squarely in his lap. 

The wind passes between them in a soft sigh, and Jackson can only watch in shocked silence as his hyung continues to ruin his trousers by snorting up more milk. Dizzily, he thinks Jaebeom is laughing at him or dying because of him, or really, both. 

When he’s finally run out of milk, Jaebeom looks over at him with tears in his eyes, hands dripping uselessly over his nose, and his trousers completely ruined. “Jackson,” he starts slowly, carefully setting aside the empty carton, “you really couldn’t have waited for me to finish?”

“Oh my god, hyung, I’m- ugh, so sorry,” Jackson moves before either of them realize, and then it’s not just Jaebom with milk up his nose, it’s all over Jackson’s bare palms, and at this point, he stares down at his clean, white dress shirt and decides it really can’t get any worse. 

Despite Jaebeom’s (gargled) protests, he’s wiping sticky palms over his own shirt and then stripping out of it so he can use it to dab gently at the other man’s stained cheeks.

“You know that’s not going to work-,” Jaebeom snorts, some milk still wet and shining on his top lip, and somehow Jackson forgets his panic and everything terrible that led up to this and pinches his hyung’s soft cheek, cooing at him mockingly. 

“That’s because Jaebeom-ie made a mess of himself~.”

Jaebeom glowers, one cheek still pulled wide like soft dough, and Jackson really forgets sometimes that they’re not just hyung and dongsaeng anymore because Jaebeom when looks up at him like this now, he gets all weird and jumbled up inside. 

“Learn some respect, you little-” Jaebeom grumbles, cutting himself off out of habit, batting Jackson’s hand and makeshift towel away without any real anger. 

He swipes at his cheek roughly, staring at Jackson out of the corner of his eye with a fondness he can never seem to suppress. “And it’s what you said earlier that got us both into this mess.” 

Jackson freezes, _ah, that’s right_ , hand still poised by Jaebeom’s face, and the sound of his own voice plays back, _really_ , _was there really no better word than prostitute?_ , and God, now he’s considering how far their little garden ledge is from the rooftop railing. 

“First of all, don’t say such rude things about me or perfectly reputable sex workers.” Jaebeom’s calm tone is offset with a powerful and sudden forehead flick. Still, it’s a testament to Jackson’s thick-skulled panic as he continues to stand there, blankly staring down at his hyung, wearing only a tank top and some dried milk stains. 

Jaebeom sighs and decidedly yanks Jackson down with his own sticky grip around his wrist. “Just, sit first.” 

“I’ll answer all your questions if you would stop freaking out for one whole second.” There’s that frustrated tone that says he’s _this_ close to being done with Jackson’s shit, but it’s still the same - even when hyung gets angry, he’s always trying to take care of him. This time he’s working the crumpled shirt out of Jackson’s grip and using it to sweep neatly over the younger’s palm, grumbling about “spilling shit everywhere.” 

“Sometimes I think you’ve finally grown up, and then you go off and do dumb shi--stuff like this.” Jaebeom tightens his hold for emphasis but remains gentle as he continues rubbing off dried bits of milk and rice. 

“To start, yes you’re actually right about the hair,” _For once,_ Jackson supplies, still dazed at the whole situation leading up to Jaebeom-hyung’s small, warm hands folding around his own. And all the dried milk stuck plastered between them, that too. 

“Partly,” Jaebeom pauses to smirk because surely he can always sense Jackson’s internal gloating. Then, he continues cleanly, neat and thorough through the gaps of Jackson’s fingers now. “You also know I get lazy about all - this,” he jerks his chin brusquely, tossing his hair out of the way. 

_Hyung always looks good though, so handsome, super pretty_ , and it’s too bad Jaebeom can’t seem to hear these thoughts. Or maybe it’s better this way - Jackson has discovered the impressive lengths he can reach in publicly embarrassing himself in front of Jaebeom today. 

“So yes, as I’m sure you’ve heard, I’ll be posing as a bought omega for one of Park’s next,” his mouth twists, “shipments.” He looks up at Jackson, a wry tilt to his smile as if they’re sharing silly jokes about the day’s office gossip, and it’s completely messing with his mind when he can’t even fathom the reasons of _why_ in the first place.

Again, there’s Jaebeom’s blindly selective Jackson-reading ability. “Makes me look prettier, softer around the edges, right? I’m not much for your typical omega.”

He waves his fingers beneath his chin playfully, and Jackson is immediately distracted, wants to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s the best, the only one who’s taken care of him as a kid and made him feel like his own person since. He wants to bury his nose in the crook of Jaebeom’s neck (and he’s right somehow, the skin there seems even softer under the shadow of loose hair) and tell him he’s warmer than even the fading touch of his own mother. 

Instead, he realizes it’s real, that Jaebeom-hyung is going to leave him, and his own voice becomes childish, unrecognizable. “But why does it have to be you?”

Jaebeom pauses and finally seems to recognize the futility of cleaning up after spilled milk. Still, he cradles Jackson’s hands in his own, thumbs tracing circles into the dip of his palm.

“You know where I grew up,” and it’s clear, he doesn’t want to get into the details of it, but Jackson only remembers a teenage Jaebeom telling a wide-eyed 10 year-old about a bad place, where birds can’t fly, where you can’t run away either, and that he was one of the only ones who did. 

“I’m the only one in our entire branch who has had any kind of experience with the way they operate underground.” Jaebeom’s fingers soothe gently across his palms again, and all Jackson hears is _training, obedience, forced submission._

“I know it might be a surprise to you,” Jaebeom laughs softly, and his breath brushes across Jackson’s nose, “but hyung didn’t always work in the boring office division. I was pretty good with active legwork too.” He smiles cutely, kimbap stuck in his teeth, and even with milk crust on his lips, Jaebeom-hyung is always the softest, sweetest, when he’s indulging him like this. 

“But hyung,” Jackson finally reacts, as if remembering that Jaebeom is still here, still within his reach, and he grabs onto the older man’s hands, covering them with his own, “what you would have to do - isn’t it, it’s too much-”

“I’m not much for your typical omega, right? It’s likely he won’t even look at me - and then I’m right back here with you and the office.” Jaebeom’s eyes twinkle, and it always ends up like this, Jackson’s world-ending worries reduced to simple arithmetic whenever Jaebeom is involved. 

Except this time, it’s different. Just like their lunch under a pineapple sky, the same food shared on the same rooftop - the same, but entirely different today. It’s been changing, and Jackson wonders if he’s a fool for still thinking it could ever be this simple between them. 

Not when the back of hyung’s neck seems paler and so vulnerable on every second glance, not when he discovers he can hold both of hyung’s wrists steady with one hand. 

Not when he’s reminded of the world Jaebeom used to live in. “But what if - say that he does. If he chooses you, then what?” 

The truth of it falls flat, hollow and ringing empty into the nerves between them. “Even better right? That’s what we want for mission success.” This time, Jaebeom even winces at the way his own words sound. 

And suddenly, Jackson is so, so _angry_ , that he can’t do anything but stare down at the way his thumb and middle-finger encircle each of Jaebeom’s wrists with room to spare. He’s angry that he’s never seen them as this delicate and small until now, and even though he knows they're strong, capable of holding more weight than he could ever bear on his own, he can't believe that they would make someone strong like Jaebeom go back and _hurt_ again. 

And maybe he’s angry at himself for ever thinking it would be as easy as pineapple skies and unspilled banana milk between them, because now they’re going to push Jaebeom until he breaks, and he - 

Amidst the anger, the flashes of Jaebeom’s bruised wrists strained at terrible angles, Jackson starts to cry. He realizes it when a still unmarred wrist pulls free, gently, slowly coming up to wipe away the burning warmth at the edge of his eyes. 

He realizes, as his cheek is pressed into the slope of fragrant collarbones, that the anger is quickly fizzling away and instead, he’s left trembling. 

Still, he wants to be stubborn and cling. If Jaebeom-hyung is still here and if he holds long and tight enough, then they won’t take him away. “It doesn’t have to be you, hyung. You- you can still say no, and they can find anyone from another city branch, and it’ll be fine. I’ll even request it if you can’t, please hyung-”

He gets a quick exhale over the top of his head and a sharp pinch to the back of his neck. “Don’t think you get to pick my battles for me just because you’re all grown.” The pinch softens into a light hand tracing the ridges of his spine, bowed and still shaking. 

And now Jackson feels even more like a child, dumb and useless and still crying after his hyung, but when Jaebeom pulls him closer, shifting Jackson’s chin over his shoulder and literally pulling his legs into his lap, he only snuffles into his neck. 

_They must look fucking ridiculous_ , he manages to think, staring at the tinted skyscraper facing their tiny rooftop with a gross, wet cough. 

Softly, Jackson becomes acutely aware of the flush of sugary lemon-cake sweetness from Jaebeom’s hair and cheek, like flashes of heat on his skin. He’s close enough for the older man’s lips to brush by his ear, and to him, it’s suddenly more than just childhood intimacy. 

Jaebeom holds him through the tremors, one hand soothing up-and-down his back, the other idly scratching at his undercut, somehow unaware of Jackson's internal emotional current. In the lull of safety and scent, Jackson wants to fall asleep, wants to fall back into childhood like a dream again, but he also feels the way Jaebeom’s chin awkwardly bumps into his forehead whenever they hug, and maybe he wants the very opposite, to grow up bigger and stronger, until his hyung has to look up at him and tuck himself into Jackson’s arms instead. 

Jackson wants to tell Jaebeom all this, that maybe it’s changing between them in one breath, but as always, it’s like Jaebeom knows how he’s going to rush into something headfirst and trip on all the obvious roadblocks again. 

Somehow, Jaebeom cuts him off perfectly before he can fuck it up himself. 

“You should know that no one forced me to take this job. I was the one who saw the mission in the database and requested an addition.” 

For the 3rd time today, Jackson finds himself struggling to understand his own feelings. 

He’s angry - but that’s not right, he can’t be angry, he’s never been able to really get angry at hyung. So he’s sad, scared then, but that’s still not right because Jaebeom-hyung would never do anything to make him cry — but then this time _it is_ because of something he did on purpose, something he still chose even though he knew, he knows just how deeply it would hurt Jackson.

He doesn’t know how he should feel, and maybe that’s when the name of the unfamiliar sensation comes with a fresh bout of tears. _Betrayal._

So there he is, learning about how much betrayal smarts for the first time, but still unable to stop himself from rubbing his tears, snot, and messy mouth all over his hyung’s shirt. 

And even now, Jaebeom knows what to say, knows just how to turn his head so he’s cradled that much closer against his chest, letting Jackson’s tears stain a new, clean spot on his bare neck. “Jackson, just listen. I’m not doing this because I want to leave you alone or make you cry after me.” 

He strokes down his neck to his shoulder, warm and heavy like a blanket, and Jackson hiccups as if attempting to throw off the touch. Inevitably, he falls silent and settles deep into the warmth around him. 

“I think we both remember how I found you.” Now, his voice is a fairytale, teasing out every innocent, honest emotion from him. Jackson hums his assent with his swollen eyes closed. 

“You were so scrawny, just this little scrap of a thing with these big glassy eyes, and you didn’t talk for months on end, but you would always cling to me, no matter what. When you wouldn’t let go of my hand when we slept, I knew then, I knew why you were always scared to let go.” Jaebeom’s hands tighten minutely around him before relaxing so quickly, with Jackson only noticing because they’re wrapped so closely around one another.

“It’s because there was no one left to hold you.”

“It’s because your family was taken from you that you were left alone like this. It’s because of the Parks that you never knew what a life with a real home could be.”

Jackson wants to protest fervently, wants to tell Jaebeom-hyung that’s where he’s wrong, because home is always the image of hyung happy, loose, and glowing with his hair down around his pale, unmarked neck as he lets Jackson clamber half onto the couch, half onto his lap. 

But, then Jaebeom is mirroring his own trembling body, his breath caught on broken words. “It’s the same for me too.” 

It’s like a secret Jackson never wanted to hear, but then Jaebeom is pulling back, watery determination filling his eyes, and he knows any kind of protest would make the fragile line between them break and spill over. 

And honestly, he’s cried enough for the both of them today. 

“Let me do it okay, Sseun-ah?” He grips Jackson’s shoulders at arm's length and shakes once, gentle but unyielding. “I don’t want to see any more kids ending up like you and me.” 

He clenches his eyes shut and it’s like his body is winding up to snap as his fingers tighten almost painfully around Jackson’s shoulders and he bows forward so heavily, he’s swaying like a live-wire between them. 

“Just let me pretend it’s a chance for me to save our past selves, okay?” 

It’s with one shuddering “ _okay_ ” that they’re both collapsing simultaneously, two unsteady dams finally broken through as they reach towards the other at the inevitable end. 

Jaebeom recovers first, pressing a final wet smile against Jackson’s neck before pulling back and smoothing away the light wisps now clinging to his forehead. Jackson watches his other hand unconsciously grope at his side, and he knows if his hyung had them, he’d be carefully fitting on his mask of professionalism behind a pair of thick lenses. 

Considering the way his fingers twitch, Jackson shamelessly worms one hand into the other’s empty grip. Jaebeom returns his hold with a weak clench and tight smile. 

Later, when they’re cleaning up (because there’s soggy kimbap everywhere and they’ve made a right mess of themselves) it’s Jaebeom who breaks the prolonged silence again. 

“It’s really not going to be as bad as you think,” he murmurs, taking the haphazard bundle of rice and plastic from Jackson into his own pile. His eyes crease upward, as if he could start teasing Jackson at any moment and they could go back to hyung-and-dongsaeng before this day, but it passes and he’s looking at Jackson with complete seriousness. 

“His name is Jinyoung - Park Jinyoung, officially. As one of Park Taek-geun’s confirmed alpha brood, he’s obviously in a prime position for the inheritance of an empire.” 

They’re walking side-by-side, and it’s surreal again to Jackson, how they might just be cleaning up after a long lunch break, but in reality, here they are, just casually discussing the upcoming son of a criminal enterprise. 

“As of now, he’s never been involved in any kind of official business, but we know Park has a thing for traditional grooming.” Jaebeom’s stare goes a little hazy, drifting away from the words in his own mouth. 

They deposit what they’ve been able to scrape up into a bin at the stairway landing, and Jackson can only watch as Jaebeom seems to pause and twist himself into a kind of hard resolve. “It’s easy to predict what an omega shipment might mean if it coincides with the kid’s 20th birthday.” 

Without thinking, Jackson realizes it out loud. “What, a coming-of-age gift?” And he already regrets saying it as his mouth sours at the idea of Jaebeom-hyung, alive and so much more than just _omega_ , being handed over as just a pretty toy to play with. He may have not been involved yet, but Jackson refuses to believe that Park Jinyoung’s hands aren’t already stained red with the crimes he has yet to commit. 

Jaebeom doesn’t need to answer him, only continuing down the stairs, hands lax in his pockets. “We’re cutting it close, but it’s the best time for us to get to him right before he has to commit to anything that would cement the succession. It’s still early enough that we could guarantee him protection and he might turn tail and act as a key witness.” 

There’s that unreadable, distant look in his hyung’s eyes again. Then, he shakes it off, dipping his head down as if murmuring a final reassurance to himself. “If anything, we can at least use him as a temporary inside source.” 

Jackson doesn’t know who Jaebeom is trying to convince by laying all this out - but he can’t stop the unbidden stubbornness sparking on his tongue. Beneath it, there’s something far stranger, an ugly tightness in his chest. 

“Why him then? Wouldn’t any of the other heirs be easier, safer targets to shake for information about daddy’s empire?” 

There’s a good amount of logic that went into the plan, careful timing, risk balanced against reward, and Jaebeom could easily force Jackson to admit that Park Jinyoung should be the prime target, but it’s really not the answer Jackson is looking for, for a question he didn’t really ask. 

_Why him? Why would you choose him over me?_

_What about me, hyung?_

Jaebeom pauses, and now they’re at the front of the shop, tilting back to glance at the rooftop garden, now slightly messier than it was at 11:50. 

“It’s hard to say,” he finally decides, not looking at Jackson, but he holds himself tall, staring straight across the ever-busy street. 

“He’s different somehow,” he decides, tapping the right side of his nose, where a tiny stud would be if it was Saturday ( _and hyung is letting loose to dress up all pretty_ , as Jackson would poke and tease).

“There’s a feeling about him, and we’re going to take a chance on it.” Jaebeom’s smiles finally, small but bright enough for Jackson to adore the small dimple in his cheek, a soft shadow in the afternoon light. 

“Promise, hyung—” he starts and stops, rooted to the doorway even as Jaebeom is steadfast, shoulders already set towards the work ahead. 

A hand catches at his bare arm, tugging him into motion, and as Jackson stumbles with it, stuttering, it’s déjà vu. 

“I promise,” and nothing’s changed because Jaebeom still knows exactly what he wants before he can find the words for it. “I promise I’ll come back to you, before you even notice it.” 

And maybe he’s teasing again, maybe he’s talking about how he has to fetch them clean clothes because Jackson is barely presentable in a tank top and slacks, and Jaebeom even less so with snot on his shirt and milk seeping into his underwear- 

\- trailing after his broad back, Jackson somehow lets himself believe in the simple truth of hyung’s promise again. 

He lets himself believe because it’s always been him, it’s Jackson and Jaebeom, and it’s always Jackson and not anyone else in the world that Jaebeom comes home to. 

Jackson silently keeps a hold on a bare wrist the entire time they walk back, and Jaebeom pulls him along, smiling deep enough for his eyes to crinkle under the perfect moment of afternoon sun. 

**_Bonus: are we adults or are we all incapable of acting like petty housewives gathered around the grapevine and golden betting pool - in other words, we are inordinately good at complicating others’ lives_ **

“You’re late,” Youngjae says blandly upon sensing the door being wrenched past its hinges again. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away from bleary traffic cone expenses, and then it’s another second before he can really understand what his tired eyes are attempting to show him.

He takes his glasses off, lays his forehead in his hands, blinks for a slow aching eight-count, and resolves to look again. 

Upon second glance, nothing’s changed, and that makes everything worse. Because if this is what Youngjae is plainly seeing, then surely the rest of the office is going to go — 

There’s the abrupt sound of papers being haphazardly pushed aside, printing cycles canceled with aggressive efficiency, and above it all, the rumbling murmur of voices and footsteps that crowd in around Jackson. It’s slow at first, but the closer they get to Jackson’s dumb wide-eyed gape, the more the feeding frenzy grows. 

By the lone coffee counter, Sooyoung touches up her velveteen lipstick, and sets it all off with one perfectly, poised question: 

“Jackson-ah, where did sunbaenim go?”

Time and time again, Jackson makes the mistake of believing that all truths are equal, when in fact there are many, many ways to incriminate yourself by being completely honest. 

“Uh-I accidentally got hyung dirty, so he went home to change.”

Youngjae slips beneath his desk as the rest of the office goes _completely berserk._

“You _what_ -!” There’s an almost rabid look in Seolhyun’s eyes as she grabs him emphatically by his tank-top clad shoulders.

“I told you, I told you he’d make the first move -- now pay up losers.” Eunbi is cackling maniacally as she slaps the back of a frozen Daehyun. Somehow, his soul seems to leak even further from his listless form. 

“Shut up and stop forcing your bet on him you merciless bitch, we all know what really happened.” Now, Minhyuk is turning to Jackson with a particularly vicious smile. “Jackson-ah, sunbaenim always likes to tell you what to do, right?”

Again, there is no room for consideration of how any of this might sound in Jackson’s mind. Blinking, he answers automatically, “Sure, but that’s because Jaebeom-hyung knows how to take care of me.” 

There is a sudden shift as half of the office crows in victory, fist-pumping collectively, while Eunbi practically body slams Minhyuk away from him, screeching something about “twisting words.” There’s the vague impression that she might be wrestling him to the floor and that he’s yelling “hypocrite” back at her, but Jackson really can’t see anything beyond the grey sea of rumpled suit jackets and slacks that surge over one another. 

“Come on, you know Jaebeom-hyung would never bend for a beta-”

“Lim Changkyun, how _fucking_ dare you-”

“Dude chill, no offense, but he’s definitely more into alphas who are big enough to-”

“--Does it even matter if nobody put it in?” 

And suddenly there are small, soft palms covering his ears, and he looks up to see Yoohyeon-noona hissing what seems to be a much more explicit version of _shut up you idiots, not in front of the baby_. Part of him is glad she’s redacting it for him. Jaebeom-hyung never liked to swear in front of him either. 

Wait, Jaebeom-hyung? What are they talking about - Jaebeom bending over because he’s a beta? His mind races because this _can’t_ be about spilling banana milk-

“What are you guys talking about?” Jackson finally explodes, scowling expectantly at the crowd around him. At the ensuing silence, he unconsciously hunches over, crossing his arms around the threadbare shirt. If only hyung would hurry back and sort out all this nonsense. 

Sooyoung speaks up again, and now she’s brushing through her brows even though she arrives on time every morning, 8 ‘am as sharp as her perfect cat-eye. 

“Jackson-ah, how did sunbaenim get dirty?”

“I accidentally spilled milk on him,” Jackson admits bluntly, still wincing at the memory of the domino effect he had set off. 

“Wait, milk as in cow milk or-”

“ _Jesus fucking christ_ , what other milk could it be you degenerate- ”

“Hey, you don’t have any right to call me that with the shit I’ve _seen_ on your phone-”

Jackson interrupts another rapidly derailing conversation that he doesn’t exactly understand, nor does he want to. “Uh, it was banana milk - if that helps.”

All he gets is a sea of blank stares, and he can’t help but protest defensively, “What, hyung likes banana milk okay?” 

“Banana milk?” There’s a familiar voice at the doorway, and Jaebeom slips through, his hair freshly washed and pulled back, an oddly wistful look on his face at the mention of his spilled lunchtime beverage. 

And now the office has another menial detail to converge on: 

“Hyung, we heard you like banana milk - me too!”

“That’s super cute sunbaenim-”

“Let’s get an office-wide supply of it for the month, please~”

In no particular order of events, Jackson eventually gets changed, Jaebeom receives periodic proposals throughout the afternoon concerning their division’s suddenly expendable budget for banana milk, and Sooyoung finishes applying just the lightest hint of rose blush to her cheeks. 

Between it all, Youngjae leaves the office early that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and thank you for reading! please let me know how it was, it would really help me and my jb problem :)
> 
> twitter: [*](https://twitter.com/happycakecries)


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up, b/c of the nature of abo dynamics here, this is where the dub-con tag comes into play.

**_fly by night_ **

Behind Jaebeom’s promise, there are a few things he failed to tell Jackson. 

It’s never an outright lie with the younger, but a lie by omission often makes a much guiltier man. Case in point, Jaebeom feels the lasting worry from Monday afternoon amplify under the dread of Thursday night, and he has to stop packing for a moment as the tremors of Jackson’s body seem to materialize under his palms again. 

Logically, he knew it would hurt, and he had prepared the speech he would’ve given many times over with just the right amount of authority and room for apologies. Of course, he thinks wryly back to how this all escalated, he should’ve really prepared for Jackson to find out sooner than he ever intended.

It’s all settled now, he repeats to himself, wrapping up an assortment of personal effects to believably craft a life for someone who doesn’t exist. 

There’s not much else to do, and he allows himself one last cursory scan of his own apartment. It’s all still relatively lived-in, save for a few empty spots that only he recognizes by heart. 

Jaebeom sits and lets the constant backtrack of 2 am city bustle seep in through his window, and slowly, he begins to consider everything he left unsaid.

Jackson knows and understands all that he needs to; Jaebeom won’t let himself believe otherwise. This afternoon could have been the same as any other: walking home together and stopping by the vendor’s for a light dinner of mixed congee, and finally saying their goodbyes as he had let Jackson squeeze him into another rambunctious hug.

(This time, Jaebeom is pressed immutably close as Jackson’s arms tightly latch around his waist, and he allows himself a moment to nuzzle into the sharp warmth of spice and peppercorn oil from the younger’s skin. It makes something soft inside him settle comfortably, and he hesitates before staying a second longer.

He knows it’ll be a while before he can feel like this again. 

Jackson eyes glisten when they part, and Jaebeom hopes desperately that he’s made this clear enough for the both of them. 

“Then—I’ll see you, hyung. I’ll call-” Jaebeom glares, leaning expectantly against his closed door, and Jackson fumbles to retract his words. 

“- I mean I _won’t_ , I definitely won’t call-”

“Jackson...” 

“Right, got it. No contact, no calling, no email, no selcas, no cat pictures-”

Jaebeom can’t help but snort at the serious way Jackson has started to list off the new limits of their relationship, and he pulls the younger man in for one last rough hug, affectionately messing up his hair. 

“I trust you Wang Jackson.” Jaebeom plants a hard peck on his forehand and pushes him towards the stairs. “Now go home.”

Jackson lets the momentum carry him forward, but he’s looking back, just one last time. “Good night hyung. Be safe okay?”

Jaebeom answers with a wave, watching from his spot by the doorway until Jackson disappears past the twisted helix of the railing. When the echo of footsteps finally fades, he goes inside). 

Idly, Jaebeom sips at a can of cold coffee that tastes of stale moonlight and wonders if he should’ve told Jackson that he’s not going to be carrying his phone much anyway on his new job. 

Here are a few more things Jaebeom is certain he didn’t tell, nor should he tell, his dongsaeng who’s greatest daily worries alternate between how big his _kimbap_ pieces are cut and how often hyung smiles: 

  1. Omega heats are said to complement an alpha’s rut. 
  2. Park Jinyoung is a young alpha, and 20 is as good a time as any for a full rut. 
  3. It’s painful, but there are ways to chemically induce a genuine heat, and Jaebeom’s heats have always been an infrequent and broken ordeal. 



He’s never said it out loud - but Jaebeom hates being touched during heat. Ever since Jackson was finally big enough (and stubborn enough to want to help without really knowing what _help_ means), it’s always been Jaebeom cocooned and feverish under three comforters with the beta latched to his back and drenching him in an affectionate deluge of hot peppercorn and spiced oil. 

It was— good that way. Bearable even, if Jaebeom tries to recall the distant sensation of being held so closely through the pain of a perpetual hard-on and slick gushing between his legs.

With every passing month, it’s an awkwardly slow work-in-progress, more backward than forward at times. Too often, Jackson has to let go completely when Jaebeom is thrashing around violently enough to hurt both of them, but still refusing to allow the younger man to untangle him from the blankets. 

It resolves in Jackson laying silently by his side as Jaebeom tries to smother the sick part of him that cries out for a touch hard enough to bruise, one that tells him _yes, this is what you want_ and _this was what you were made for._

Eventually, tentatively, Jackson will curl around his blanketed back again, and Jaebeom will have worn himself out enough to finally relax against the embrace. 

It’s good this way. This is all he needs.

Jaebeom is not much for your typical omega - he doesn’t preen for an alpha, would never bare his neck all pretty for those dark, heavy stares, and spreading his legs for one is reserved for the worst of his nightmares. He tells himself these things are true, that he would never beg because that’s who Im Jaebeom, omega notwithstanding, is. 

He could never let himself think otherwise, _want_ otherwise, because then even he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself anymore. 

And maybe that’s the truth of it. He can’t tell Jackson these things because he’s always been _Jaebeom-hyung_ , Jaebeom-hyung who acts grumpy all curled up in the corner of the couch, but not-so-secretly indulgent towards the younger’s request for cuddles - because when Jackson looks at him, it’s with eyes clear of intention, only calm and affectionate and innocently _beta._

Jackson can’t know that when they shoot Jaebeom up with their special cocktail of drugs, he’s going to fall apart completely, and all he’ll know for one crazed, heat-induced week is how to be a good whore for Park Jinyoung, and a part of him, so dark and slick and unrestrained, is mocking him for how well he’s going to take alpha cock again. 

It’s telling him how much he’s going to enjoy it.

Park Jinyoung. In his registered ID, the Park heir’s eyes had shone through the screen, dark, like oceans under strange moons. Jaebeom knows, has known from the very first moment he saw him, that he’d fall to his knees for this man and allow everything he is, has been, to be stripped away with one cold, perfect stare. 

When the knock comes, two brisk raps at his door, Jaebeom takes the empty coffee can with him. 

His hair falls loosely over his face as he loads disjointed segments of his life into the car, but this time, he doesn’t have anything to tie it back with. 

**_[beautiful thing, a terrible thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVDGMXFWWG0)_ **

Jinyoung feels nothing stronger than a sense of creeping irritation in the afternoon of his 20th birthday. 

Each birthday has been the same bitter affair as years past — Father sends his congratulations from Hong Kong, New York, or Mars for all Jinyoung knows. His half-siblings (save for Yugyeom) gather for the “family dinner” to flatter him until the food sours in his stomach, and in the end, all Jinyoung asks for is a slice of lemon-cake from the Michelin patisserie under his uncle’s name, boxed up with a dove shaped from white roses perched on top. 

It’s made special just for him and served fresh on every September 22nd morning. A picture perfect example of excess to the smallest detail, with a swirling layer of high-grade cream, lemon squeezed directly from an Italian import, and a multitude of other fanciful tricks the chefs have employed to desperately gratify the young Park heir. 

Every year, it’s the same seven-word critique that returns on a crisp thank-you card: _more sweet, but please keep it sour._

It’s the only indulgence Jinyoung will openly admit to. Park wealth means status, but his sleek hair and fitted suits are only a byproduct of his birth. It’s nothing he’s ever desired. 

The first bite of the lemon-cake on 9.22 always bursts so sweet and sours instantly, curling his tongue with a powerful aftertaste. It’s then that hope blooms like spring in this one moment of each year, and only then that Jinyoung lets himself believe that the lemon-cake in his mouth is a minuscule piece of the puzzle locking away what he truly wants. 

In reality, it doesn't even come close. But his father is amused by his son’s selective sweet tooth, and Jinyoung - well, he’s happy to waste his family’s money on something that could never exist, not in the way he wants it to. 

It’s no different this year, and Yoongi even takes the initiative of ordering from the patisserie with the same repeat request of _more sweet but sour_ before Jinyoung realizes.

(“My loyal manservant,” Jinyoung had scoffed at him, still buried in his giant canopy bed, and Yoongi’s face betrayed nothing as he had wrenched back the covers to watch Jinyoung writhe like a burning worm under the sudden flood of sunlight. 

“Happy birthday, Jinyoung.”

“--Go to hell.”) 

So far it’s the same tedious process: cake in the morning and Jinyoung bitter again after a sole moment of satisfaction, relatives telling him what a young, handsome alpha like him should expect from the world at his feet, and now - Jinyoung is just ready for his guaranteed two hours of peace before engaging in mealtime subterfuge.

He is then immediately suspicious when Yoongi forces him into a 5 o'clock downtown drive at “his father’s direct request,” when Jinyoung should be laying in his bed, thinking and wishing for nothing. 

That’s right, he realizes, peeling his rapidly warming forehead away from the car window. His father is in town this year. 

Yoongi takes a perfectly controlled left turn, but Jinyoung moans, swaying hard against his seatbelt as the inside of his head devolves into a drunken merry-go-round. His face hurts and his skin is pulled too tight, and he doesn’t know whether it’s because of the thought of his father or whether one of the chefs was finally fed up enough to slip something into the annual lemon-cake — 

Yoongi interrupts his delirious scenarios of murder via cake with a faceful of smoke. “How are you feeling, birthday boy?” 

His father disapproves of anything that could affect his virility as a developing alpha, so Jinyoung usually makes it a point to bring Yoongi cigarettes for every drive. The smell is unpleasant, but not typically unbearable. 

Yet today, when the fine particles brush past his face, it grates on his nerves as instant and irritating as salt on an open wound. 

He smothers his nose into his elbow and grits out, “Like I might rip your gross cigarette out with the rest of your face.”

Yoongi’s smoke screen only seems to grow, until Jinyoung thinks his head is disappearing in the fog. “In rut, little alpha?” 

“—as if,” Jinyoung dismisses on instinct, almost laughing at the idea of _him_ tousling with Yoongi for dominance. 

Then, despite the woozy heat filling his head, a frigid awareness shoots through him. 

It’s his 20th birthday, but _he_ couldn’t have - no, Jinyoung hasn’t had anything besides some coffee throughout the day. 

Except the annual lemon-cake for breakfast. 

Amidst the panic of his ensuing rut, Jinyoung collapses back against the leather suits with a hoarse laugh. “Really, Yoongi - chemical warfare on my birthday? Do you hate me that much?” His throat is raw with the sound of his own voice, and dimly, he can feel the collar of his shirt dampen against his neck. 

For once, Yoongi sounds genuinely apologetic in that sleepy rasp of his. “No hard feelings Jinyoung, but you know how your father wants things done.” 

“I- this is— fucking bullshit- ” Jinyoung smacks his forehead over and over into the glass, forming a perfect spot of condensation to match the red imprint on his skin. 

How his father wants things done: breeding and tossing aside nameless omegas until he finally has a little alpha pup and then forcing his own son into an early rut in the name of keeping with some nonsensical, coming-of-age tradition. Jinyoung has always known how far his father’s control spread, but somehow it never occurred to him that he would use his own biology against him. 

He should have anticipated it, and as Jinyoung’s teeth pulse angrily inside his mouth, something terrible that’s growing louder by the minute tells him to just rip the bastard’s neck out. 

The car pulls to an abrupt stop, interrupting Jinyoung’s blind bloodlust as Yoongi drags him out by one arm. Distantly, he’s aware of the low growl that has become a constant rumble inside his chest, and even when he forcibly holds his breath, it doesn’t seem to stop. 

“Come on. The faster you get this over with, the easier it’ll be.” Those words only seem to register as a challenge to Jinyoung’s rapidly devolving hindbrain, and he yanks violently at Yoongi’s grip. 

In the 15-minute struggle to ride the elevator of some private hotel, near-rut-Jinyoung tries to bite off three of Yoongi’s fingers in one go, and they end up exiting onto the designated floor with Yoongi restraining both wrists in one hand while keeping Jinyoung’s head still by the scruff of his neck. 

Park Taek-geun is already there, waiting by the door of a closed suite, and he only laughs, delighted at the sight of Jinyoung attempting to simultaneously wiggle out of Yoongi’s hold and snap openly at his own father. 

The other man struggles to apologize and keep him still at the same time, but the Park head waves him off. “It’s good to see that under all that sullen brooding, he’s still a proper alpha. Go ahead,” he hums, tracing two fingers under Jinyoung’s tensed jaw and pulling back the very moment those sharp teeth close. 

“Good boy.” Park Taek-geun regards his son with a terrible sort of satisfaction. 

Jinyoung is practically blind with instinct and impulse, and upon being forced into the suite, he immediately lashes out with a snarl - which stops halfway when he catches a burst of sharp lemon-grass through the haze of perfume sweetness. 

Lemon-cake, and sugar on a partly sunny day. 

Everything spirals upwards around him, and he realizes he’s been forced to his knees. 

There’s a pounding in his gut that’s unlike any kind of stomach ache, and beneath the rage and insensible desire for violence, Jinyoung is suddenly so hard it fucking _hurts_. 

A clinical female voice pipes up from above his bowed figure: “It’s going to be a strong rut, isn’t it Park-ssi?”

A hand drags roughly through his hair, tugging hard at his scalp before retreating. “It may have come on a bit too soon for his age, but I’d like to think of that as a good sign for future endeavors.” 

“Of course, Park-ssi.” 

“Then let’s get started. I trust that your selection is adequate.” 

Jinyoung sways on the spot, an elbow still pinning him by the back. Selection? He can’t think, doesn’t understand, only that the room is so warm and there’s a muggy mix of scents and people everywhere, but he needs to find _that_ one-

“Yes, as you can see,” heels click across tile, stopping in front of a row of kneeled figures, “all our omegas are prepared for service during heat. Chipped collars that can withstand any kind of accidental bonding bites, polysynthetic blindfolds for anonymity, and of course, birth control implants.” 

Park hums lightly, considering the bowed heads before him. “And the collars, blindfolds — they don’t come off?”

As if following through with a sales pitch, the woman bends stiffly to place her finger on the metal clasp of a girl’s shivering neck. The collar releases after a small beep, and it closes again with a swipe of the same fingerprint. 

“Biometric scanners programmed into alloy clasps,” she explains, idly wiping her finger across a pant leg.

“How convenient,” Park says, light enough to sound like he’s seen something particularly entertaining. “Indulge my curiosity a bit more - how is it that you’ve managed to sync up their heats within the same week?”

“We use a standard company mix of non-toxic stimulants to trigger heat. Give or take two hours, each omega’s body will naturally kick-start into an early heat cycle, and once it’s run its course, everything will flush out with the hormones.”

“And they’re safe to use?” There’s no mistaking Park’s tone for anything but impersonal curiosity. 

“Of course,” the female manager’s reply is pragmatic, barely indignant, “there’s nothing in there that could result in any kind of...internal damage.” 

Park laughs, incredulous. His dress shoes brush away from Jinyoung’s line of sight to stop at the first omega in the line. “This industry has really become something hasn’t it, Seungyeon?”

Seungyeon simply hands over a tablet. “We are prepared to provide the best services possible for you and your family, sir.” 

“Well then,” and that cruel, conniving voice that Jinyoung wants nothing to do with is finally turning on him, and it feels like the start of a bad nightmare, but this time it’s real and it’s going to force Jinyoung out of his mind. His gaze is jerked up from the swirling marble pattern of the floor, and his father’s breath turns acrid against his clammy cheek-

“I suppose now it’s all up to Jinyoung, hm?”

He sees him - _smells him_ , and he can’t help it - his body jumps under his father’s grip and he’s lunging towards the source. 

Sharp pain erupts in spots across his vision and Jinyoung feels himself being slammed into the floor again, but this time he knows what he wants because it’s _right there_ — broad shoulders and black hair sweeping out from beneath a blindfold and a strong, pale neck bared so soft, so open, just for him.

At once, it’s instinct and so much more. 

—Jinyoung tenses - he _has_ to get closer, for a scent, even a taste maybe. “I need to — can I, please-” and he thinks he must be going out of his mind to ask his father for such a thing with spit leaking from the corners of his mouth. 

His father only chuckles and with one heavy hand, pushes Jinyoung’s face right into the crook of the omega’s neck.

Later, when he’s spread out across a hotel bed that he doesn’t remember going to sleep on with aches and scratches littering his body that he doesn’t remember receiving, Jinyoung will question everything he had done, who he was up to this point. 

But now, now he opens his mouth and bites down into soft flesh without a second thought. 

A cry pierces through the air, and two hands come up to push desperately against his shoulders, but Jinyoung is blindly nosing closer and closer to the strongest source of the scent, laving his tongue across the mess of blood, spit, and skin he’s left in the wake his bite. 

Yoongi glances warily at the impromptu audience, and Park simply inclines his head towards Jinyoung’s bound hands. 

After a moment’s hesitation, where the room is only filled with the sounds of Jinyoung’s guttural groans and the slickness of his mouth roving over skin, Yoongi draws back, tentatively, one step at a time. 

He’s holding his breath when he finally releases Jinyoung, but the young alpha only wraps himself around the gasping omega, cradling him by the back of his head as they both fall to the floor with two muffled thumps.

The rest of the room is quickly gathered and filed out, but Yoongi can’t stop himself from taking one last glance at the pair entwined across the cold marble tile. A hand lands on his elbow, gesturing gently to the door, and Yoongi quickly bows and joins the rest of the company in the hall. 

Park Taek-geun is the last person to see his son devolve from the reserved, intelligent young man who refuses to acknowledge his own lineage into the alpha shamelessly rutting against the omega on the floor. 

He smirks, shaking his head, and lets the door fall shut with a click. 

———————

Minutes pass, and Jinyoung doesn’t do anything more than alternate between marking up any expanse of bare neck that hasn’t been hidden by the collar and tasting the sweet trails of lemon-grass mixed with the blood now staining his teeth pink. 

When the omega shudders, shifting against the tight cage of teeth at his neck and the body bearing him into the floor, Jinyoung only tightens his grip, growling insensibly. It’s too fresh into his first rut for him to let go now. 

The body beneath his stills, and Jinyoung continues, making himself deeply intimate with how that lemon-grass scent tastes in every curve and dip of the omega’s arched neck. 

Somewhere, he understands he must be hurting the other man, but something uglier, something completely unlike him, is rising up from his chest to his ears, telling him that this is it - the truth behind the sugared lemon-cake under pineapple skies - that he finally has what he wants most caught and trapped against him. 

Then, beneath it all, the real demon begins to taunt, asking him what it would even matter to him if the omega he’s biting into turned out to only be a wonderful distortion of memory, if he could have been happy years ago if he had just settled for fucking poor replacements of the real thing. 

Jinyoung’s instincts flare possessively, and his next bite goes in deeper, draws more blood than any of the previous ones. 

The omega’s muffled whimpers break in a loud, pitched cry, but Jinyoung can’t allow himself to think, can’t acknowledge those voices or his own terrible violence - so he doesn’t let go, only works his teeth in deeper, harder, until the immensity of sweet lemon-grass washes over everything completely. 

-

Jinyoung’s eyes have closed at some indiscernible point in time. He realizes this now upon opening them to the sensation of nails digging into his left shoulder - an odd parody to his position with his jaw still clamped around the soft swell of the omega’s right. 

“Ah, h-hurts-” That grip is curling, twisting his suit jacket in a pained fist as the omega attempts to shrug off his bite. 

Jinyoung’s anger, heat, and arousal all subside in the ensuing flood of guilt. He squeezes his eyes shut and stills, repeating a quiet mantra of _i’m sorry_ inside his head. Another whimper trails off beside his cheek, and Jinyoung breathes in-and-out, flexing his jaw as well as he can to slowly release the tension of the bite. 

Eventually, he finds himself drawing back, his mouth closing with a shudder - but the damage is already more than just skin-deep. Webs of pink spit stretch from the imprints of his own teeth, and automatically, he smears the same sticky mess across his own mouth. 

An exhale brushes across the fresh wound, and the omega immediately curls up, cradling himself tightly against the ground - away from Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung wants to leave, to cut himself out of this moment, but his body simply presses harder into the softness of the omega’s hips, and the shock of heat in his gut paralyzes him. His groan mixes with the stuttered cries beneath him, and somehow, two bodies begin to rut blindly against one another on the cold, slick floor. 

Jinyoung’s hands scrabble across the tile to cup the omega’s cheeks, pale and soft, like milk and honey spilling over, and he instinctively bends down to place a trail of wet kisses over fresh tear-tracks. 

His mouth is grazing over and over again at the delicate skin beneath the edge of the blindfold, wanting so badly to soothe away the hot tears from their source, but then there are trembling fingers turning him and the omega’s lips are brushing over his, a bare whisper promising warmth and something indescribably more. 

It’s impossible after that to stop either of them from falling into the inevitable course of rut and heat. 

-

The first time Jinyoung fucks him, the omega’s thighs are shaking on top of his lap as his knees scrape back-and-forth across the hard, marble floor. 

There’s a punctured, almost broken sound the omega releases, his head thrown back and hair bouncing with each tight thrust. It’s something about the way he’s moving, the curve of his pale stomach twitching because of Jinyoung’s cock inside him, because it’s Jinyoung who’s messing him up like this. 

The omega writhes, scraping himself further across the ground as he begs shamelessly, “Ah - please-!” and Jinyoung can’t help but respond with an answering snap of his hips. 

The resulting cry he receives is so raw in its intensity, and it’s nothing Jinyoung has ever felt before. 

It’s likely neither of them last long enough for the first round, pushing awkwardly into each other, half-seated on the floor. Jinyoung doesn’t know who comes first, but there’s the feeling of the omega _clenching_ around him and he’s being milked dry through waves and waves of a seemingly endless climax-

Like this, he pops his first full knot and the flood of omega slick suddenly coating his dick and thighs overruns him with the sweetest satisfaction and an even stronger desire. They shudder against one another, Jinyoung’s nose buried into a heaving chest, the omega’s arms locked around his neck, and the wet, aching place where they’re tied together pulsing in time to a frenzied heartbeat. 

With his head propped against the omega’s chest, he’s not sure who the staccatoed beat belongs to. 

-

By the next round, they’ve somehow dragged each other to the bed, and Jinyoung is obsessively stuck ( _literally_ ) on the way the omega’s pink, slick hole is stretched open around his cock. 

With every drag in-and-out of that tight heat, he watches the way it clenches and flutters, clinging to his every movement. Everything about this seems off -

He’s never been particularly fond of the messier aspects of his biology and any sex in the past can only be described as mostly forgettable, fumbling affairs. 

Jinyoung presents himself behind a layer of neat hair and pressed shirts. He wants the reserved coldness, the harsh professionalism that says _please, don’t think you can touch me_. 

Now - now he can’t get enough of the obscenity of their exchange, the way their bodies are sliding against one another, eased by the copious amounts of slick and cum tying them together. Distinctly, he wonders if he’s even a person in a body anymore and not just a conscious collection of desires focused only on the bruises in the shape of his fingers over trim hips or the slack, blind expression of ecstasy that makes the omega’s mouth fall open, pink and parted and glistening -

He loses track too often for him to count. 

By the time his knot is up again, he has the omega’s leg hiked high over one shoulder, and there’s the sensation of pressing in, pushing past a trembling point of tension. He doesn’t know how this happened before, how anyone could take in something like a knot, but then the omega is moaning, shifting down against him, and he’s watching rapt, as his knot finally stretches the swollen rim impossibly wide, before disappearing completely into the broad, strong body beneath him. 

Jinyoung sees white, hears the rush of his own breath, before he collapses flat onto his front with nothing left in any of his limbs to hold him up. Distantly, he realizes they’re both coming, pulsing steadily where they’ve been tied together for the next good hour, and he pants brokenly at the sensation. 

Hands grope blindly up from his shoulders until they settle in his hair. Even with the most recent climax leaving him weakly spasming around Jinyoung’s cock, the omega still curls around him, clinging tightly. His fingers tangle rhythmically in his hair, lightly smoothing across his neck and shoulders as if he cared who Jinyoung was - as if he wanted to keep him safe with his own bare, vulnerable body. 

Jinyoung’ shudders calm with every even touch, each quiet sigh, and eventually, his eyes fall shut in dreamless slumber. 

-

They must eat intermittently because whenever one or both of them finally awake from periods of mindless fucking, there’s always a full cart of food in the room.

Like the sex, it’s practically mindless instinct. They eat out of hunger, but the respite never lasts long enough for any kind of rational thought to return. 

It’s Jinyoung who feeds both of them from platters of fruit and bite-sized cakes, and it’s always Jinyoung who falls for the little distractions that drive them back to bed. 

First, feeding by hand inevitably gets him into trouble. If he initially thought it would be easier given the blindfold, he proves himself wrong the moment he notices the way pink lips brush against his fingertips. By that point, he’s blatantly drawing the broken pieces of bread closer within his palm just to watch the omega’s tongue follow in bold little kitten licks.

When he finishes, it’s with an open-mouthed kiss that he fits neatly into the crook Jinyoung’s hand, and they’re falling into one another again, mealtime forgotten. 

At another indeterminate point of rest, Jinyoung watches the omega eat instead, occasionally wiping crumbs from his cheek or guiding his fingers to curl around another piece of fruit. Watching then leads to Jinyoung’s mind wandering, and as the omega stuffs down bread and cakes in enthusiastic, single bites, Jinyoung wonders idly if he could swallow down his whole knot. 

The next time the omega is reaching out for the accustomed piece of food, Jinyoung’s fingers are intertwining through his and pushing them back against the bed again.

(and maybe Jinyoung is still stuck on the idea, parting the begging gasps around his thumb, smearing and pulling at the other’s swollen mouth - but he knows how desperate the omega gets, arching his stomach into Jinyoung’s bobbing cock as if he’s physically empty without Jinyoung’s knot inside him. 

so instead, Jinyoung takes him roughly on his knees, pressing him into the bed with one hand on his neck, watching his mouth gape open around broken syllables the entire time).

In some rare moments, Jinyoung might be capable of not becoming horny at any kind of unbidden provocation. Talking and even thinking in full sentences only fills him with a hazy sense of _fuck, mate, breed_ , so he tries to focus on the blank calm between anger and arousal, the glow of instinctual satisfaction he feels latched to the omega’s back, nuzzling idly behind his ear as the other man eats.

It’s in these moments so close to clarity that Jinyoung notices the hint of a brown freckle hidden under matted strands of hair and the edge of the blindfold. Jinyoung is drawing closer, winding himself tighter around the omega as he peers at the beauty mark, his fingers unconsciously creeping over the blindfold. 

The leather is slipping down, barely a fraction, but there’s a smaller freckle to match the first, and Jinyoung is _so close-_

A hand closes around his wrist, and a gasp stutters out between them. If the blindfold was gone, their eyes would be meeting, but the omega only tenses against him, and Jinyoung feels as if he should remember something, something lost and precious. 

(he tries to be gentle, even if it inevitably devolves into the same rough coupling with his thrusts puncturing little hiccups from the omega’s limp body. This time, he brushes back the baby hairs tangled over the other’s brow, exposing twin moons, and Jinyoung traces his fingers over them, imagining the dark gaze there that might meet his own). 

-

In the flashes of heat and rut, there are an innumerable amount of things Jinyoung notices about the stranger split open on his cock, things that drive his alpha into a deeper frenzy: 

The omega has such a strong body, so different from the slim, waifish creatures that decorate his father’s business meetings. All of them like caged, forgotten birds, but this one holds on with tense, unyielding arms, taking everything Jinyoung could give and more. He bares the pale expanse of his neck and spreads his short, stocky thighs too wide - all for Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung learns how to make the omega throw his head back and scream himself raw when he digs the heel of his palm into the soft curves of a toned stomach, wanting to see if he can feel the imprint of his own dick where they’re connected inside. It’s cruel, but the omega’s body only seems to tighten around him, telling him he can take it. 

When it gets to be too much, Jinyoung pushing past what must be sane boundaries, the omega’s thighs clamped around him and shaking uncontrollably, they only seem to fall deeper into one another. 

When he’s pushing back into the mess he’s made of the omega’s pretty pink hole, the other man only opens up for him more, taking him so well, even past the breaking point, until they’re hurt and breathless and still aching for one another. 

At every climax’s end, a deafening _la petite mort_ , he still reaches for Jinyoung, cradling him with his entire body, holding him tight despite everything that’s happened between them. 

-

The last dredges of Jinyoung’s rut manifest themselves with a feverish possessiveness.

The omega’s thighs are pillowed on his lap, his whole body seated firmly against Jinyoung’s chest, and the alpha fucks up into him with short, shallow thrusts. At the edge of the bed, his knees bump up-and-down against Jinyoung’s as each thrust threatens to knock the both of them to the ground. 

Jinyoung doesn’t know why, but he can’t allow their bodies to separate, not even for a moment of readjustment. It’s not comfortable nor particularly gratifying grinding shallowly into the tight heat, but he wants to keep the omega there, where he can hold him securely by the waist and cover him as much as possible with his own body.

And maybe that’s it - the bareness of his shoulders, the unmarked skin at the back of his neck. Jinyoung rubs his cheek over it, satisfaction rumbling in his chest as the heat and scent of lemon-grass spills over, stronger and more potent than any of their previous couplings. 

He’s mindlessly dragging his teeth across soft skin again, bumping over previous marks, when they click against the silver latch of the collar. 

The omega arches in his arms, suddenly pitching forward with a panicked whine - but Jinyoung has found them, his scent glands, swollen and practically dripping with that same beautiful scent from under the hard metal. 

His knot is filling up, harder and quicker than ever before because his body knows he’s close, that if he could just get his teeth up under the collar and _bite, mate - breed_ \- that would be it, that’s all he wants -

The omega begins to struggle wildly, dragging and pulling at Jinyoung’s arms even as he stays firmly seated on his cock.

But Jinyoung - he can only taste the one thing he’s been yearning after for years, sun and grey sky with sugar and a drop of lemon perfect on the tip of his tongue, and he can’t let go now. The metal clip is slowly but surely giving way between his teeth and Jinyoung can feel it, the swollen edge of the gland against his lower lip-

Two hands brush past his mouth, blocking him from biting with a soft, trembling barrier. 

“Please - stop, Jinyoung.” 

And Jinyoung experiences clarity for the first time in an eternity-long week. There’s an omega in his lap, wet but pleading for him to stop, his body shielding itself from Jinyoung, and there are the marks from his teeth, bruises from his hands everywhere. 

And Jinyoung is still hard with a rapidly swelling knot. 

The first thing Park Jinyoung says to Im Jaebeom at the end of his rut is, “i’m sorry,” as he presses his knot one last time into the crying, shuddering body held so dear to his own. 

**_hello stranger, it’s like i’m waking up from a dream to you_ **

Bless his luck, Yoongi, an ever-proficient driver and a man of many other unnamed talents, drops Jinyoung off 5 minutes late at the designated hotel for his appointment. 

Jinyoung officially meets Jaebeom as the other man is fitting a sugared pastry into his mouth with one bite. 

His black hair is soft and clean, and he’s drowning in a comfy fit of patched, baggy jeans and a purple sweatshirt. And his lips are stretched so wide around the pseudo-croissant, Jinyoung can see his molars. 

He freezes, just steps away from his seat at their designated booth. There’s an indistinct flash of heat through his mind that reminds him of a shiny pink mouth, wide cheeks, a blush of arousal.

Jinyoung forgets how he was going to make his own carefully worded introduction. 

Luckily, Jaebeom’s surprised stare finds him and the other man speaks up first. 

“For someone who bites so much, you’re not what I expected.” 

That certainly wasn’t what Jinyoung thought he would say. When he finally takes his seat, he can say Jaebeom isn’t what he expected either. 

“Jinyoung.” He nods a short greeting, picking up the menu to scan over words that don’t register as he tries to keep himself blank, neutral. They’ve seen each other naked, been with each other at the worst times, but Jinyoung is still irrationally driven to keep everything professional - though it’s been nothing _but_ the moment they met. 

An amused scoff. The other man places his fork down without pretense, and somehow, Jinyoung can sense his knowing smirk from behind the edge of the menu. 

“ _Park_ Jinyoung?” 

This is what Jinyoung wanted to avoid. How was he going to explain: _sorry that my father is not only a rich asshole but also a rich,_ _dubiously criminal asshole and he basically forced me into rut because of our terrible family dynamics and i know none of this involves you, but i’m sorry for being_ ** _Park_** _Jinyoung-_

Jinyoung is snapped out of his panic when a finger gently taps his hand. He shakily meets the omega’s eyes, now almost creased shut in a pretty smile. 

“I’m older than you, you know. Im Jaebeom.” The smile grows, complemented with the tip of a tongue peeking shyly against his teeth. “You have to call me Jaebeom-hyung.” 

Jinyoung looks at him, truly looks at him, and understands that Jaebeom isn’t making fun of him. In fact, the way a genuine urge to tease the older man blooms quickly, comfortably in his chest makes him feel like Jaebeom isn’t like anyone else in his cold, embittered life. 

“Should I?” The sun is unexpectedly bold, cutting a pane of gold across their table, and Jinyoung turns his hand over to squeeze once around Jaebeom’s, “when you’ve been calling me _alpha_ for so long?” 

The blush that spreads over Jaebeom’s face is a sight to see. He slips his hand out of Jinyoung’s grip, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear, but it only makes the pinkening tip stand out more. 

“You wish. I could be more alpha than you, pup.” The effect of his half-hearted glare is more endearing than anything else, and Jinyoung only scrunches his nose in response. 

Though he's right in a way, Jinyoung considers as he idly pushes his sample of breakfast pastries over to Jaebeom’s side. 

Im Jaebeom is strikingly handsome in the set of his strong brows and square jaw, but soft, almost feminine in the doughy curves of his cheeks, the gentle pink line of his mouth. His eyes seem like they might be direct, even dark, or more delicate, thin as they blink slowly under a growing sunbeam. 

He watches Jaebeom adjust two bobby pins by his ear as his fork hovers over the array of colorful tarts, and he’s sure the omega would look more alpha than Jinyoung, than anyone really, if he cut his hair. 

And maybe it is unexpected, the way this person wears two bobby pins that innocently catch the light, lets the length of his hair soften his edges, and still meets Jinyoung’s stares and awkward silences with an unflinching directness. There are surprising, incongruous facets of Jaebeom that seem to fit well with Jinyoung’s empty spaces. 

Despite all apprehension and his buried guilt, attraction comes easy to him without a second thought. 

-

They talk about nothing, trading innocent and meaningless facts without addressing the fever-soaked impressions of the past week. 

(“I would get a cat if I could.”

“Why not get one then?” Jinyoung automatically likes the image of Jaebeom’s small fingers cupped around an even smaller kitten. 

Jaebeom is turning away, the line of his lips either amused or contemplative. “Too busy with my terrible dongsaengs, I guess.”

Jinyoung is already irrationally fond of the way Jaebeom’s lips purse around the word).

He doesn’t know if they should, or if he even has the nerve to bring it up in the face of Jaebeom’s placid calmness. 

It’s not right to start the foundation of a relationship on such a questionable basis, but the longer they stay in their single booth, picking up the conversation at random, wandering intervals under their fraction of sunlight, the closer Jinyoung comes to fooling himself. 

He comes close, making Jaebeom laugh openly at his snark and continuously holding himself back from brushing away wispy strands that get stuck to the other’s cheeks. The easy affection escaping his usual tight-lipped demeanor is simultaneously embarrassing and immensely comfortable, enough for him to imagine it lengthening and solidifying into his future. 

He comes so close, but as they finally leave the booth for busy lunch-goers, Jinyoung rises to his full height at Jaebeom’s side, and they’re almost even, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

He’s looking up, to say goodbye with a tease, but there’s something wary and vulnerable in the way Jaebeom suddenly shies away from him. He’s left watching the omega leave first without another word. It’s a jumpiness that was never apparent during their table-side conversation. 

That’s right — Jinyoung had met Jaebeom blindfolded, collared, and out of his own mind and body on the floor of a hotel rented out by his father who had provided him with no choice but to be cruel. 

What does Jinyoung know? 

At least, nothing beyond the charming, nonsensical mosaic composed of cats, bobby pins, and banana milk. 

Still, a small, trembling voice that he doesn’t have the heart to squash, tells him to hold on, to cup it close with both palms. 

Jinyoung is inclined towards being a fool for just a bit longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey thanks for sticking w this fic - i am slowly stewing in my own filthy thoughts. please let me know how it was for u!! would be a great help to my jb brain rot!  
> twitter: [*](https://twitter.com/happycakecries)


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh things escalate but hold on tight folks cause they're gonna get even wilder.  
> please enjoy!

[ **_our unsteady seesaw game in the spring_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NC_Lo8nRqfA)

They don’t talk about their shared heat-rut week, they don’t address the lines that were crossed and the ones they came so close to erasing permanently. 

Instead, they keep meeting, and Jinyoung pretends it’s not through a service that had put Jaebeom blind and collared at his feet. Somehow, Jaebeom agrees to each request with the same smile on his face that says he might be indulging Jinyoung for more than just a job. 

(Jinyoung leads Jaebeom to a high-end cafe after a late Saturday morning breakfast, and he has the audacity to cover the taller man’s eyes with his hands as he teases “wait” across his ear. 

When Jaebeom’s hands close around something fluffy and weakly wriggling, Jinyoung’s palms fall away at the sound of the other man’s small gasp. 

“This one is named Jiyong-ie.” The kitten in question opens her mouth wide in a tiny roar, befitting her namesake, and Jinyoung goes weak in turn for the soft whimper that falls from Jaebeom’s lips. 

“Jinyoung-” and Jaebeom is already cradling the cat to his cheek, pressing his mouth into patches of fluff. But his eyes are still stuck on Jinyoung, and for the longest time, it’s like neither of them know what to say in this bubble of nervous gratitude.

A paw bats furtively at his cheek and there are more cats winding sleek tails between their legs. Jaebeom beams broadly, his eyes creasing into deep folds: “You remembered. Thank you.”

Jinyoung’s heart jumps into his throat for nothing more than Jaebeom cradling a cat, and he knows, he’s being such a _fool_. And yet, for the first time in his life, he wants to act out and indulge in blind foolishness as much as possible. 

They end up spending the entire afternoon there, sprawled between multicolored nests of fur that are spoiled thoroughly under Jaebeom’s open palms. Jinyoung sits idly in place, cross-legged, resolved to categorize the way Jaebeom lights up differently for each cat that crawls into his lap. 

A sharp tug draws his attention to the hem of his pants. A grey Siamese flexes its claws innocently, meowing up at him, and Jinyoung lifts it up with a hiss. “Be good, Hoesaeg-ie,” he scolds, smiling smugly to himself when the cat kicks out at empty air. 

“Cute.” He turns to see Jaebeomm tilting his head, now watching him with a cat nestled in his elbow and another cupped in one hand.

The Siamese growls, still disgruntled at being held up, and Jinyoung lets it sway for a moment longer. He leans in towards Jaebeom, hovering over languid cat bellies with his own mischievous feline in hand: “Who is?” He bobs Hoesaeg up and down for effect, feigning serious contemplation alongside it. 

Jaebeom’s lips twitch and Jinyoung fully expects to be teased, but then there’s only a quick drag of warmth over his cheek as Jaebeom lifts away the wriggling weight.

It could barely constitute a kiss, but Jinyoung still sits there, blinking, as Jaebeom muffles his answer into the kitten’s stomach. 

“You are.” 

It’s in moments like these that Jinyoung feels how easy it is between them. How easy it could be if he just forgot the world around them. 

Jaebeom peeks out from the cat’s belly, and Jinyoung does forget for a moment more, letting it all melt away into the afternoon filled with sunshine in dark fur and sleepy adoration).

-

In other moments, Jinyoung is reminded of the harsh edges that don’t fit quite right between them. He’s reminded that even though he doesn’t know Jaebeom, he still wants to spill out the darkest parts of himself and hope that the shaking vulnerability in the other’s eyes might disappear in return. 

For how direct they can be with one another, they don’t ever come close to truly talking. Jinyoung still resolves to stay. 

(At a small music store that Jaebeom found between the high-rise skyline of hotels and the miscellaneous collection of shops leading to the downtown center, Jinyoung gets his own surprise in the form of headphones slipped over his ears. 

It’s an English song he’s never heard before - some light pop melody that’s reminiscent of glittering lemonade and pink swimsuits by heavily saturated chlorine pools. It’s effervescent and entirely too frivolous, but Jaebeom ducks over, catching him nodding along. 

When the song ends, he places the headphones back in Jaebeom’s hands, and the other man’s answering smile is entirely too melancholy. 

He wraps his hand silently around an outstretched wrist, a gentle question pressed into a thrumming pulse. _what’s wrong?_

Jaebeom just shakes his head, snapping himself out of whatever trance it was, and slips away. He doesn’t go far at all, but the stilted distance between them seems to say everything. His back is to Jinyoung as he fiddles with another song in the queue, and Jinyoung feels as if he’s distinctly done something wrong without having done anything at all. 

The headphones are pushed into his palms again, but this time Jaebeom pauses, contemplating the cradle their overlapping hands form. “You know,” he squeezes Jinyoung’s fingers lightly, “whenever I used to listen to music, I would always imagine I was living in another world, where I was a different version of myself.” 

He lets go, arms snapping back behind his back, and he’s looking at Jinyoung bashfully through a curtain of loosened hair. The quiet hesitation is retreating behind a layer of well-worn cheerfulness. Jinyoung glances down at his own hands, oddly empty except for the headphones - and even then, he misses the warmth. 

Jinyoung is not sure why he’s asking, or what he even wants the answer to be, but he does. “If you could, would you change this life for another?”

Jaebeom simply looks at him with shaking eyes, pained. There is no answer and only the background of the store’s light pop and other muffled voices fills the space between them, their shoulders close enough to brush but not touching. 

Jinyoung slips the headphones back over his head, closing his eyes to the sudden taste of bitterness. 

A touch nudges over the back of his knuckles. Jinyoung’s closed grip awkwardly stutters as Jaebeom’s hand opens against his and their fingers slowly but surely fit together. Like puzzle pieces that don’t exactly work as a whole, they find a way somehow with overlapping edges and bent corners. 

Like this, side by side, Jinyoung lets the song in his ears imagine another life with doves overlapping blue skies with white, unbroken wings and another hand steady in his). 

[ **_in the hidden night, where you and I faced each other_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qJEoSa3Ie0)

Between them, the limits of their relationship continue to remain vague even as their words are direct, blunt with just the obvious amount of affection. It’s as if the space between Jaebeom and Jinyoung spans two contradictions: a complete stranger or soul mate. 

Maybe their perpetual game of seesaw finally firmly tips over the night Jinyoung automatically calls for Jaebeom after waking from a series of surreal images that could only loosely be defined as a nightmare. 

“Hyung -hyung, Jaebeom-hyung.” Jinyoung’s own breathing is like a muffled wildfire, smothering him further beneath his blankets and the leaking darkness of his dreams. 

It’s like he can hear the dying rasp of his own voice reflected across the empty speaker. His nails scrabble against the blank phone screen. He just needs to hear him-

A faraway rustle of static. Jinyoung clenches one hand around the other to stall the onset of tremors. 

“--Jinyoung?” It’s 3 am, of course Jaebeom sounds like he’s barely awake, but he picks up by the third ring, and Jinyoung lets out a shaky, broken sound-

“Jinyoung, what’s wrong?” His deep voice grows sharper, closer now. If Jinyoung closed his eyes he could imagine the blankets being pushed aside between them, an intimate conversation held across the distance of a shared pillow and sleep-mussed cheeks. 

“I dreamed - I don’t even know, but I can’t fucking sleep-” 

He’s shaking harder and maybe he can’t stop it because his breath is still caught in strange portraits of his father wearing his face or is it his own reflection in the mirror — but he can’t say it, can’t ever seem to tell Jaebeom what he wants-

“Jinyoung, it’s okay - it’s okay. Just breathe with me.” Jinyoung takes a shuddering breath in time to the same muffled whisper from the other side of the city. 

“Okay? In and out…” Jinyoung nods despite how silly he feels, breathing harshly into the silence of his own room on a 3 am phone call with someone he barely knows yet trusts immeasurably more than anyone else in his life. 

They spend a few more minutes like that, sharing the same odd, stuttered breath before Jaebeom tentatively breaches the peace. 

“Jinyoung, are you okay?” 

Jinyoung tries to shake his head, tries to find the words to mirror his movements, but he can only make choking noises into the phone.

“Can you talk to me?”

He shakily clutches the phone closer, and there’s only the sound of tight, muffled breathing as Jaebeom waits. Jinyoung tries, he really does, but all he can do is beg.

“Hyung, please, help me.”

Jaebeom’s voice becomes distorted, far-away again as the connection between them fills with the sound of urgent rustling, but the last thing he says to Jinyoung makes him hold on just a little longer. 

“I’m coming, Jinyoung. Just wait for me, I promise I won’t leave you alone.”

And even though Jinyoung’s world seems to be reduced to an unending reel of apocalyptic dreams — the sky drowning into the grey ground, white camellias sprouting over his own unearthed grave, someone dear to him murmuring from under a black veil— 

he takes his first easy breath ever since he woke with nothing but Jaebeom’s name on his lips.

-

When Jaebeom pulls up to the front gate, the entire mansion is quietly bathed in the amber shadows from humming street lamps and the glow of the moon. Jinyoung is there, waiting with only the thin layer of a single cotton dress shirt between his back and the cold bite of latticed, iron bars. 

The car pulls into park right beside him, an oddly silver sleek thing of the night. Numbly, Jinyoung feels the warmth of two hands slam into his shoulder before he’s being enfolded completely into Jaebeom’s body, lemon-cake sweetness blooming with a hint of bitter worry. 

It’s the first time he’s seen Jaebeom wear glasses. Black, thick-lensed things that are haphazardly slipping down his nose. 

“Dumbass,” a rough voice murmurs into his hair, and Jinyoung concedes, leaning into the light sweep of lips. “Why are you even out here without a coat?”

 _Waiting for you, of course._ Jinyoung noses further along the dip of Jaebeom’s shoulder, melting further into what could only be a wonderful illusion to parody the horror of his dreams. 

They remain pressed together for a few minutes more in the humming night air - Jaebeom carefully soothes his hands over Jinyoung’s hair, neck, shoulders, and Jinyoung feels like he’s dreaming again. Then, Jaebeom is gently propping him into a car seat, pulling the seat belt over him, and pausing to stroke carefully over Jinyoung’s cheek once more before climbing into the driver’s side. 

Jinyoung’s head falls against the window, and he watches rows of blurred lights flicker by overhead without any feeling. He doesn’t ask Jaebeom where they’re going, as long as he’s awake and there’s a hand gripped tight around his, he won’t have to go back again, to the loneliness that defines his life.

-

To his surprise, they end up at a convenience store - a concept Jaebeom had to explain to him with genuine surprise and amusement. 

(“What is it called?”

“A convenience store? Where you can pick up small things you might need last minute or somewhere to go for late night cravings if you can’t sleep.” Even in broad daylight, the bubble letters 24/7 C-O-N-V-E-N-I-E-N-C-E light up above them in an urgent burnt-out neon display.

Jinyoung frowns, taking in the cramped interior through the window and the peeling advertisements pasted on top of one another. It’s certainly not a place he would choose for a late night rendezvous. “How is it ‘convenient’ if you have to travel so far to get here?” 

Jaebeom pauses at his side before his face squishes into concealed laughter. He then laughs openly at Jinyoung, throwing his head back. “I think that might just be a you problem, Jinyoung”). 

Now that he’s finally inside, he’s dazed at how bright the inside of a tiny store can be in comparison to the dead of night outside. Jaebeom has him by one limp wrist, dragging him around packed corners and idly pausing to grab something before tugging a wide-eyed Jinyoung back into motion. 

He pays for everything, exchanging quiet words with the teenage cashier, and Jinyoung feels like he’s entered into a new dimension. There’s something about the closed yet compact space of a convenience store at 3 am, where everyone, even strangers, seem that much softer and familiar under the guise of a shopping trip to reel your life back from ensuing disaster. 

There’s no time to ponder longer on the nature of liminal spaces as Jinyoung follows Jaebeom back into the open expanse of nighttime. 

Jaebeom leads him across the quiet street, where they sit side by side on a lone park bench overlooking a swing set. Jinyoung shivers at all the emptiness, and mumbles the only thing that comes to mind: “How convenient.” 

“It’s supposed to be,” Jaebeom replies with an easy hum. He digs through the plastic bag, crinkling it loudly through the quiet and hands Jinyoung a lukewarm drink. 

Jinyoung turns it sideways, slowly reading the label. “This isn’t-”

“-Coffee, I know.” Jaebeom scoffs, peeling open the straw for his own carton of convenience store brand banana milk. “Of course I’m not going to buy you shitty coffee at 3 am.” He punctures the tiny foil hole with one steady hand and stares Jinyoung down, even as he sucks cutely at the milk from the corner of his mouth. 

Jinyoung weighs the can in his hand. _Hot choco for all your sweets needs - on the go!_ He really doubts how good refrigerated “hot” chocolate can be, especially at such ungodly hours of the night. 

Jaebeom only raises a brow and continues to talk around the straw in his mouth with ease. “Just try it. If you don’t like it,” he pops the tiny straw out, its plastic tip already chewed up, “I’ll give you mine.” 

Jinyoung doesn’t let his thoughts wander too far to the little milk drops on Jaebeom’s bottom lip, so he pulls off the tab for a quick swig - and chokes immediately on the flood of undissolved cocoa powder. 

“It’s too sweet,” he says simply in response to Jaebeom’s awaiting stare. 

Jaebeom tilts his head, pursing his lips frankly. “That’s good then.” 

He shivers as the occasional breeze winds back around through his thin dress shirt. The milky powder of the drink stirs within the open mouth of the can, and he takes another sip, holding it longer this time in the back of his throat. Still too sweet, but maybe he likes it that way. 

Lukewarm and indescribably good at 3 am. Jaebeom scooches closer, until they’re pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee, and Jinyoung slowly warms from the inside out. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

Jinyoung resolutely does not look at the man pressed against his side and minces another powdery sip in his mouth. 

“No?” Jaebeom seems to nudge even closer, the billowy sleeve of his coat wrinkling until Jinyoung can distinctly feel the solid weight of Jaebeom’s arm pushing against his. “I’ll tell you about my day then.”

“I didn’t work today.” He pauses to sip at his milk, the straw rattling noisily with the last dregs of drink. 

Jinyoung wants to sigh in relief, to be rude and selfish and say _thank god_ , but he’s still left clutching his half-empty can with a parched throat. 

“Since I had the time, I thought I would try to cook and watch a movie.” Jinyoung _knows_ neither of them can cook. He’s the worst out of the two of them, but there’s no point in differentiating when they’re both so far off the foreseeable scale. 

Jaebeom glances at him with a knowing grin. “Yeah, it didn’t work out so well.” He shakes the carton, looking unfairly disgruntled at the empty echo of the straw, and he sets it aside. “The movie wasn’t that good anyway.” 

“You’ll be sad to know that after I eventually passed out on the couch, I was woken up-” he gasps for effect, throwing his weight into Jinyoung’s shoulder. “-by my terrible dongsaeng! At 3 am no less.” 

Jinyoung’s face tingles, unbidden, at the cute exaggeration of Jaebeom’s usual low, mumbled tone. 

“He said he was dreaming, something terrible, so I made sure to drive him out to drink the best hot chocolate and keep him company.” Jaebeom pouts, softening against his side with a wide yawn. “Of course, now he won’t even tell me about his nightmare, so I still don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“...what a terrible dongsaeng, don’t you think?” Jaebeom’s murmur is hidden against his shirt, but Jinyoung is inclined to agree, about his own terrible-ness, his shittiness as a human being in general.

But then Jaebeom continues, worming his hand into Jinyoung’s until the sleeve of his coat brushes over both their fingers. “I know that he’s hurting from a lot, and he won’t tell me when he’s hurting because he’s so closed off and alone all the time.” 

Jinyoung trembles, still silent, like he might shatter at the next word, but Jaebeom holds him together, resolute in his vulnerability. 

“I want him to know that his hyung is just as terrible and messed up, but when they’re together - he feels just a bit better. ” 

Jinyoung feels a gentle, insistent touch on the back of his neck, and he’s turning into an open armful of Jaebeom. The can clatters to the ground, but Jinyoung’s arms are shaking around Jaebeom’s broad, open body, and he’s holding him, so warm and solid, and even though he’s real, Jinyoung thinks he might be drowning.

“Even if it weren’t for your rut, I would have still wanted to meet you, Jinyoung.” 

And Jinyoung’s heart shudders, practically breaks at the want in Jaebeom’s voice. 

The cool night air changes between them as stilted tenderness ignites into sudden immediacy. Jinyoung is pressing his mouth desperately to Jaebeom’s, gasping out “-- _hyung, Jaebeom-hyung, I’m sorry_ ,” with every stolen breath. 

Jaebeom clambers into his lap, his glasses knocked askew, and he answers Jinyoung’s desperate cries with his own open-mouthed kisses. There’s half-formed apologies, admissions, and prayers shared between them, and even more unsaid in the frantic truth of their bodies, seeking out the familiar way they once fit together by instinct alone. 

Under the blooming faces of night flowers, they come closer to understanding the unspoken space separating them. 

Jaebeom is so warm and perfect in his lap, and Jinyoung is quickly losing control of himself with how desperately he’s nosing down the thick length of a bared neck. He smells so sweet, and Jinyoung doesn’t know how he’s held back from touching Jaebeom like this, tasting him like this, and—he quickly jerks back. 

“Hyung, wait, you have to-” he’s panting as he settles his forehead against Jaebeom’s chest instead, but then he forgets what he was saying, what he needs to do, because now he wants to bury himself further into that deep heartbeat-

“It’s okay.” Jaebeom’s flushed face next to the moon is a sight that makes Jinyoung’s head spin. His own face is being lifted upward, cupped tightly between two palms. Jaebeom’s smile is wide and patient and his eyes are crinkling sheepishly behind foggy glasses, but even so, Jinyoung adores him because he doesn’t look away. 

Jaebeom shifts lightly in his lap, and he’s leaning closer, bold as bold can be as he whispers across Jinyoung’s cheek.

“I’m wet.” 

“Jesus-” Jinyoung’s whimper is stifled by slick lips, working his mouth open, and it’s so rushed, so lewd out in the open, Jinyoung could come at the thought of it alone. 

He hauls Jaebeom closer, even closer, until he’s practically pressed into the cleft of the other man’s jeans. The friction is so good, _it hurts_ , but he can’t stop himself from grinding up into it, even as he pleads brokenly into Jaebeom’s collarbone.

“Please, hyung - let me touch you, I don’t even want to get off - just want to feel you— ” 

He’s cut off with a short huff. Jaebeom only places his hand over Jinyoung’s, dragging it down until Jinyoung can feel how hard he is in his lap. 

“Make me feel good then,” he whispers with a tiny, shy smile. 

In the empty park, with the moon as their only witness, they fumble desperately to cover Jinyoung’s lap with Jaebeom’s sweeping coat as their hands tangle messily around the same tiny zipper. Jinyoung eventually bats him aside, yanking at tight fabric until he finally digs his fingers into Jaebeom’s boxers to meet bare skin. 

Jaebeom squeaks, tightening his thighs at the shock of pleasure, but at this point Jinyoung’s hazy mind is focused on one thing only.

He tugs Jaebeom’s arms around his neck, letting them latch urgently onto his shirt as he whispers reassurances. “Let me, let me hyung - wanna take care of you.” 

Jaebeom’s thighs shake the entire time Jinyoung stretches him open. There’s no way he could forget this moment: the soft, aching give around his fingers - Jaebeom was right, he’s so _wet_. 

It’s not long before Jaebeom is loose and spilling slick freely down his fingers, across his palm. Jinyoung can feel it staining his shirt-sleeve, the sweetness of it settling like a layer of wet dew over his skin. 

Despite his lack of technique, Jaebeom rides his fingers with shallow, punctured gasps, his body arched so tightly as if Jinyoung’s touch was the only thing keeping him together. 

“Jinyoung, please--close, I’m so close-”

Jinyoung mindlessly pushes his fingers further into the other’s pulsing hole, mouthing wet kisses into his chest. “Come, come - just do it, Jaebeom-”

And it’s like they’re both coming, Jinyoung tensing as Jaebeom spasms in his lap, barely muffling his voice with one hand. Jinyoung feels his own body tremble in broken starts and stops to mirror Jaebeom’s, and he coaxes the omega’s cries into soft whimpers with quick kisses to his cheeks, the sighing curves of his lips. 

When they finally come down from their high, it’s to the mess they made between them. Both of their pants are soiled and there’s the clear evidence of climax marking the lines of Jaebeom’s exposed stomach and Jinyoung’s shirt. Beneath Jaebeom’s bare thighs, Jinyoung is still hard. 

Then, Jaebeom breathes out, a weak laugh to match the hair tangled over his forehead, his smudged glasses, and Jinyoung knows he would do it all over again. 

Jaebeom nudges gently at his cheek with a clean palm. “Want me to get you off?” 

And Jinyoung is tempted, he _really is_. He wants to know how rough Jaebeom’s deep voice can get when he fucks into him, how Jinyoung might be able to see him truly wrecked and beautiful this time - Instead, Jinyoung only tightens his hold around other’s waist and feels the spiking heat in him pulse and finally settle at the adoring scent of Jaebeom’s satisfaction. 

“No,” he murmurs, so warm and happy, “just let me hold you like this.” 

Jaebeom only wraps around him, ever tighter and closer, as if promising to never let go again. 

**_don’t break my heart, you’re my only one_ **

Jinyoung doesn’t hesitate to reach out, to touch Jaebeom over every little menial impulse of desire. He’s quick to be utterly shameless whenever the elder flushes and yet still returns each kiss, each press of their bodies willingly. 

That is to say, there is more than once that Yoongi drives them home with the car seats fogged up with lemon-grass and his own lingering arousal, heavy with the afterthought of rain on fragrant magnolia flowers. 

(“I have to go-” Jaebeom pants, pressing another kiss to Jinyoung’s swollen, begging lips, “this is my stop.”

Jinyoung only chases after him, murmuring platitudes against Jaebeom’s little gasps —” just a bit more, hyung” — , as he continues to press mercilessly into the spot deep inside Jaebeom that makes him shake and fall apart, so helpless and pretty in Jinyoung’s hands. 

At this point, he’s long forgotten his own pleasure. There’s something more when he’s allowed to touch Jaebeom like this, in the intimacy of Jaebeom spreading his thick legs to let Jinyoung into the deepest part of him. 

Jaebeom eventually stumbles out, glancing back at Jinyoung through the tinted window. Jinyoung waves, his fingers still wet, and Jaebeom’s stern reprimand is quickly ruined by how his face erupts in red. 

He practically runs up his doorstep, with Jinyoung watching the entire time, his chin propped carefully atop his hand. 

Yoongi rolls the window down, playing with an unlit cigarette between his own fingers). 

That’s not to say their relationship has only progressed physically. Even if the ever undefined boundaries between them leaves him questioning what Jinyoung means to Jaebeom, Jinyoung spends too much of his day entertaining different scenarios of _them_. Together. 

He wants to cut their lives out and paste them neatly onto another page, one where Jinyoung can wake up to Jaebeom on the same messy bed, see how exactly his eyes might crinkle beneath the morning sun, how he might ruthlessly dig his cold feet into Jinyoung’s bare legs. 

Jinyoung has let the thought slip into his mind before, that Jaebeom might be _it_ , and in truth — he wonders if it matters now. He _wants_ Jaebeom, regardless of imperfect lemon-cakes and leftover traces of sun in pineapple skies. 

He wants to keep Jaebeom selfishly between his palms, this time closer and infinitely more dear than the dove he had failed to set free so long ago. 

-

Today, Jinyoung meets Jaebeom on a damp bench overlooking a small river, cutting right through the two sides of the city bordering it. 

It’s a place Jinyoung would never have chosen, and Jaebeom always takes the chance to tease him for it, telling him with each of his niche locations that it’s a chance for him to step out of his sheltered life and learn about the city for once. 

Jinyoung concedes that the view is a frighteningly domestic thing. Blooming pink magnolias spreading their light perfume above head and Jaebeom’s satisfied gloating by his side. 

He sighs, feeling a familiar smile tug at his lips. “I like it.” 

“Told you so,” Jaebeom rubs his cheek all over Jinyoung’s shoulder like the overgrown cat he is. “I like it too - smells like you everywhere.” 

Jaebeom has told him many times how his scent is like magnolia flowers after the rain, with his nose lodged in the sweaty crook of Jinyoung’s neck. Jinyoung likes the deeper sweetness of Jaebeom’s scent more, but he’s inclined to agree, surrounded in a halo of flowers that’s reminiscent of the heavy fragrance of his own room. 

“I hope it doesn’t rain then,” he indicates, glancing at the sky through fluttering pink outlines. _Pineapple weather_ \- his heart twists, just a hint of a bittersweet feeling. 

“It’s inevitable, it always rains after this kind of weather,” Jaebeom comments almost absentmindedly, unaware of the way Jinyoung is turning to him, his face going slack-

Somehow, he relaxes further, playing with Jinyoung’s fingers as the one thing Jinyoung had left behind so long ago falls from his lips: “But the sun always comes back, and it’s always more sweet than sour after a day like this.” 

He beams so widely up at Jinyoung, and Jinyoung can feel himself drowning as the past crashes over him to merge with Jaebeom’s now smiling face. 

It’s the boy and the dove, their hands cupping around a broken wing under the faraway promise of sunshine under a pineapple sky. 

Jinyoung doesn’t realize it - how Jaebeom’s wrists are trembling in his grip and he’s looking at him with wide eyes, no longer smiling - but he can’t snap himself out of it. 

“You remember.” Jinyoung is rapt, searching for any hint of someone he had barely known in the now familiar face before him. 

It’s been so long, but when he presses his nose to Jaebeom’s temple, when he breathes in the perfect sweetness of lemon-cake - he knows. 

“It’s you.” 

Jaebeom only looks at him, frowning, lips wavering, so dear to him yet lost for so long, and Jinyoung is never going to leave him again. 

“It’s you,” he repeats, pressing his face urgently to Jaebeom’s, trying to cover every bit of Jaebeom’s bare skin with his own and to do the same in return so that he won’t forget how it feels - “you’re the same as before.” 

“Jinyoung,” Jaebeom is pulling him back gently, fingers soothing over the back of his neck, and still Jinyoung obeys, always caught by the gentle strength in Jaebeom’s voice, his unwavering eyes.

He’s still so enraptured when Jaebeom shatters his heart. “I’m not the same person you remember.” 

He’s pressing his hands to Jaebeom’s face, his fingers tracing the square jut of a jaw, the plushness of thin lips, the furrow of a brow - and his body recognizes it all, knows the intimate shapes of Jaebeom’s body, so how could Jaebeom deny that he isn’t the person Jinyoung knows to be true? 

“Don’t you - don’t you remember?” He’s searching Jaebeom’s sorrowful eyes, looking for a hint of the same dove they had held between them, something that might salvage the glass pieces stuck in his chest. 

“I do, Jinyoung.” Despite all of Jinyoung’s panicked, fluttering touches, Jaebeom calms him with a single sigh. 

He slowly settles Jinyoung’s twitching fingers in his own hold, their hands laced together between them, like so long ago. It’s loose, delicate, and breakable, but Jinyoung can’t do it - he can’t pull himself free. 

He’s small again, trapped in the shadows of his home, cradling something he can’t fix. “Why,” he finally gasps out, staring at their interlocked hands, “why then-”

“Jinyoung, I-”

Jinyoung tugs fiercely at Jaebeom, blinking through a sudden blur of petals because none of it makes sense, and he refuses to listen, just this once to Jaebeom’s low, logical patience. 

“Why does it matter just because you grew up? I’ve changed too but I still remember you, and now we’re together like this again-”

It’s the first time Jaebeom raises his voice above Jinyoung’s. “Because — you don’t know me at all.” 

And despite the urgent beat inside his chest tattooing a distinct warning, Jinyoung’s sharp temper flares as he opens his mouth to argue. Jaebeom pushes a palm across his lips, and with an unrecognizable look in his eyes, tells Jinyoung -- “listen.” 

And then, it’s all spilling out between them - his father’s growing empire, Jinyoung’s natural succession, and Jaebeom’s role in all of this, in this fabricated control of Jinyoung’s life. 

This time, Jaebeom takes his heart apart, piece by piece, between those soft, gentle palms, and lets them scatter like rotting petals across the river.

“So it was all,” Jinyoung blinks, numb to the way Jaebeom’s fingers are still clutching his. He forces himself to swallow and say it out loud, “it was all a lie.” 

It must be true, he acknowledges as he spirals into the deepest parts of himself, because Jaebeom is protesting urgently, “no, please Jinyoung-,” pulling at Jinyoung’s limp figure, trying to get Jinyoung to look at him— “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” He wants to laugh because Jaebeom has never let himself get so worked up over Jinyoung’s self-centered bitterness before. 

“You have to understand. I just wanted to get you out safely.” 

This time, with his begging, doe-like stare, Jinyoung knows he’s lying to him. 

“Then why not tell me sooner?” He’s digging his nails into Jaebeom’s palms, but he can’t look away, can’t let go until Jaebeom admits it to his face. “Why did you lie to me?” 

Jaebeom doesn’t answer. 

Jinyoung lets go and doesn’t look back. He runs away from the park filled with blooming flowers under a grey and yellow sky, and a lone, shaking figure by the clear riverfront, and he leaves behind all the hints of lemon-cake sweetness that had made him feel like a different person. 

He leaves behind the parts of him that he had grown to love with Jaebeom. 

**_first love growing pains_ **

Jinyoung recalls his first dream dimly like this, sprawled across his bed with only the soft, muffled sounds of his breathing in the darkness to remind him of his existence. 

There was a boy who had watched the person he called his mother being tossed aside by the man with cold, cruel eyes who he knew was his father. The boy had seen her eyes go empty when she looked at him, and he had thought he was cursed - because he was sure he had come from a devil and a corpse. 

So then, Jinyoung ran, far from home where his reflection in her gaze might show him something that he wasn’t, that he didn’t want to be. 

And like that, swiping at his dirty cheeks and yet still crying stubbornly, he had found another boy, just as far from home. 

The other boy had taken one look at him with his soft, slim eyes, and he had stopped Jinyoung’s tears with his small hands on round cheeks and a promise of something special. 

“Do you want to see something?” He had put a finger to his lips, coming close enough to bump their foreheads together. Jinyoung wondered what the weird dots on his eyelids were. 

Jinyoung had nodded slowly, warily, but then he was taking him hand-in-hand down the alleyway to a stone nook covered with a dry patch of grass. 

When the boy had reached in and unfurled his cupped palms, Jinyoung forgot the devil that was his father, the reflection of his own horrified face - because in those small hands was a baby dove, cooing curiously up at him.

“Here-” the other boy had insistently thrust his full palms at Jinyoung, inching closer on the balls of his feet. Jinyoung had fumbled, fell at the delicate, white creature suddenly being entrusted to him. 

The boy had laughed out loud and pulled Jinyoung back up, the other hand still cupping the dove toward him. Somehow, tentatively, Jinyoung managed to open his palms and had watched, breath held, as the dove nestled lightly into his hands. 

It had felt like home then, that he was making a new home with the other boy’s hands cupped around his, their upturned palms shielding the soft, cooing baby dove from the world. 

The boy spoke up after a few moments of smiling at Jinyoung’s barely-restrained amazement. “It hurt its wing somehow. See-” and he poked gently at one awkwardly folded wing. The dove ruffled its feathers, squawking, before settling back into its newly formed nest. 

Jinyoung had wanted to cry all over again, for some reason. He didn’t like crying much, but he was lost and so was this dove, just like him, and he didn’t know how he would ever go back again. 

The hands around his had pressed once, twice, cupping him tightly as if sensing his lost crying. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, holding Jinyoung’s gaze with his bright, calm eyes, “that’s why I showed you. I know you can take care of it better than I can.”

Jinyoung had tried to protest, that he didn’t even know how to get home, but the boy had shaken his head, uneven bangs brushing over Jinyoung’s own. He had held Jinyoung close with the dove between them and smiled his creasing smile with those two moons on his eye. 

“I promise, it’s our secret.” 

Jinyoung had made him promise one more thing, something he insistently pouted over, spoilt to the core. 

“Promise me you’ll be here when I come back.” 

And when the tall man with serious eyes and smoke pouring from his lips came for Jinyoung, he made himself remember the other boy’s big, buck-toothed grin as he had laced their pinkies together tightly. 

Inside his coat, the dove cooed against his heartbeat. 

Jinyoung had held onto that image, the promise they made under the pineapple sky,

(“ _you should remember that because it’s yellow and grey_ , _and it’s always sweeter than sour after raining,_ ” the boy had told him, matter-of-fact, and Jinyoung had nodded along, wondrously)

\--and the dove he kept hidden in his room. 

He held onto it as long as he could even when his father didn’t let him leave for weeks, even when the tall man was always watching him with those unblinking eyes. 

He had held onto it until he finally managed to re-trace his path, running with his clothes in half a mess, to find that there was no one there. There was no one with a wide grin and half-moon eyes waiting for him. There was no one there to keep the promise. 

And so he had gone home, angry and so, so lost, from wandering around in the rain. When he had looked, with the last bit of child-like hope in his cupped palms, he had found the man with dark, unfeeling eyes waiting in his room. 

When Jinyoung had finally pulled aside his secret nest of silk shirts, the dove was gone. 

Like then, and like now, Jinyoung laid across the bed, empty inside from the loss of the last promise he had ever made. 

Now, Jinyoung knows better than to ever dream of a boy and their dove under a pineapple sky ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i know i'm probably moving a bit fast, but just wanna say thank y'all for the loud and continued support! i see u guys :)) please let me know ur thoughts on this chapter, always super super grateful for ur comments!  
> this fic will be wrapping up soon and it's gonna be a bit bittersweet, but i'll see y'all at the end!
> 
> twitter: [*](https://twitter.com/happycakecries)


	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP -- the dub con in this chapter is very strong and could be considered borderline non-con. jinyoung is not explicitly involved, but well...you'll see.  
> anyway, take care and I'll see u at the end!

**_interlude: brotherly worry_ **

“Hyung,” Yugyeom calls out, wavering at his door, “you shouldn’t have to go if you don’t want to.” 

“Yugyeom,” Jinyoung sighs, still messing with his tie through his reflection in the dim mirror. “You know it’s never really about what I want when it comes to Father.” 

The younger boy pouts, ducking his gaze beneath his bangs in meek agreement. It’s an odd action now on his gangly frame, already a head above Jinyoung. 

Certainly, taller than Jaebeom. 

Jinyoung shakes his head, jerking the tie loose again from beneath his collared shirt. 

“Hyung, you just look so sad all the time, and — and you don’t even spend any time with me anymore.” Yugyeom’s mouth twists in embarrassment, but he’s always been the softest one in their family, a crybaby through and through. 

Jinyoung doesn’t hold it against him, even if he sometimes wishes he could. He never tells him, but he likes that Yugyeom tries to care, especially for someone like him. 

Right now, Yugyeom’s usual whining brushes over something still tender and raw, and Jinyoung’s temper flares in an ugly burst of resentment. It’s misplaced and a mix of something deeper, more volatile, but Yugyeom’s self-righteous innocence reminds him too much of someone else. 

“Then why don’t you take my place, Yugyeom?” He turns, fed up with his own empty reflection and this goddamn tie that seems to strangle him no matter how he knots it. He’s shaking, coming apart and falling out of his own body as he hears the words from his mouth, but it’s like he can’t stop until he sees the same hurt reflected in Yugyeom’s eyes. 

“Why don’t you make yourself useful in this family for once?” 

Yugyeom’s wide eyes shine, and he’s trying to make himself smaller with his big, skinny shoulders, but it’s ridiculous. They’re both too big for this kind of thing anymore. 

Even so, he shuffles closer, hands coming up towards Jinyoung’s taut shoulders as if he was the one in need of reassurance. 

He doesn’t touch him, but he hovers, close, ready to catch him if he falls. “...I’m sorry, hyung.” 

Jinyoung quickly snaps out of it at the sound of Yugyeom’s trembling voice. “No, it’s my fault-” he yanks the younger man down for a quick hug, ruffling his shaggy hair. “I’m sorry, Ggyeom-ie. You know I didn’t mean any of it.”

“S’ok,” Yugyeom immediately buries into his chest, Jinyoung’s causticness already forgiven. “I know you’re stressed.” 

“Yeah…,” Jinyoung runs his fingers over Yugyeom’s baby hairs, mind wandering through everything in the past few weeks. _Stressed_ is certainly one word for it. 

“Just some dumb alpha stuff you wouldn’t understand.” He gives Yugyeom one last pat before pulling back with a mocking smile reserved for just the two of them. 

Yugyeom is immediately back to his eager, teasing self. “As if,” he grins slyly, “I know _exactly_ why you don’t hang out with me anymore.”

“It’s because hyung’s too busy with an omega~,” he singsongs, dancing nimbly out of Jinyoung’s tensed grip. “I can smell it on you when you sneak home, you know.” 

Jinyoung refuses to acknowledge him, choosing instead to frown aggressively at the tangled tie in his hands. The air between them sours with the scent of rain on iron-rich earth, and Yugyeom quickly flounders, trying to appeal to his hyung’s ever-changing moods. 

“I mean - not that it matters, I won’t dig into your business-” 

Jinyoung finally rips the tie off and drops it to the ground, crumpled by extreme frustration. The pressed collar of his white dress shirt flares wide and open around his neck, and it feels too bare, irritating like the whisper of a fleeting touch, but he turns to Yugyeom with a practiced smile anyway. 

“It’s better without the tie isn’t it?” 

Yugyeom, confused, hesitantly nods, but Jinyoung never brings up the talk about an omega again, so Yugyeom keeps quiet. 

He thinks he knows now why Jinyoung is so sad all the time. 

**_please stay, please stay here for a little longer_ **

Jingyoung knows what his father’s meetings are like. 

He expects the suffocation of a million eyes judging his face, his stature, his name. He expects the hands that greedily try to push future plans and illicit deals into his own. He expects it all under the heavy weight of his father’s gaze, who has planned out every drink, every guest, and every little word Jinyoung should say. 

Jinyoung expects everything, save for when his wandering eyes meet Jaebeom’s shocked own. 

At this very moment, his father’s hand lands on his shoulder, a crushing reminder finally making itself known. Jinyoung freezes in place, champagne slipping slightly in his condensation-damp fingers. 

“I remember that omega from your first rut.” The hand begins kneading, bearing down, as if simply trying to reassure him, just a friendly conversation between father and son. “I thought you might enjoy seeing him again in a...cleaner setting.”

His words in Jinyoung’s ear are lock and key, already clicking in place for Jinyoung’s sentence. 

“Go on,” his father nudges at him, but it feels like Jinyoung moves in the slowest free-fall, forced to watch Jaebeom’s face from across the room as his body lurches forward with each constant step. 

Somehow, he finally makes it, unwillingly swaying above Jaebeom’s kneeled figure. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other, but here he is, as earnest and open as ever with his pleading gaze and the wide expanse of his milk-pale cheeks that just begs to be covered by Jinyoung’s palm. 

His father departs with one last word, squeezing his shoulder. “He’s yours.” 

And Jinyoung - he still can’t stop himself from wanting. 

It’s been Jaebeom for so long, and it’s still Jaebeom now, and Jinyoung must be so, so stupid to let his bleeding heart open up again at a time like this. 

He falls lifelessly into the open chair, and Jaebeom automatically clambers up from the floor to perch on the edge of his lap. Jinyoung knows it’s part of the act for the job, can see the way other young alphas are posturing over omegas in the same uniform, but between them, it’s jarring how intimate this feels in the wrong setting. 

“Why are you here?” He refuses to look at Jaebeom, not at the way his loose shirt is open around his flushed collarbones, or to the same black collar lining his neck. 

This time, the blindfold is gone, and Jaebeom’s eyes never leave him. “The same as you - a request from your father.” 

Jinyoung hates the way his mouth grows thick around his next words, but despite the scared whispers begging him to stop, he spits it out harshly. “What are you even supposed to be doing then?” 

Jaebeom tenses, and almost instinctively, Jinyoung's hand goes to clutch at his waist, as if wanting to pull him closer, nuzzle into the crook of his pale neck. Still, neither of them move and they remain half-pressed together, hovering in the awkward distance between them. 

Then, Jaebeom is tentatively leaning down, brushing his lips dryly over Jinyoung’s brow. “Providing entertainment, I suppose.” 

Jinyoung flinches away, and Jaebeom doesn’t follow, only sending him a sad smile behind a curtain of curled hair.

 _I’m sorry_ seems to pass between deaf ears and closed lips. They don’t talk, don’t touch any more than where Jaebeom’s body is pressed in a warm line over Jinyoung’s thigh, and Jinyoung resolves to drink more and more, if only to numb the feeling, the scent of Jaebeom taunting him everywhere. 

Invariably, the room takes notice. 

A raucous voice interrupts his next languid sip. “Jinyoung, if you’re just going to sit there and get drunk, let the rest of us have a turn already. He’s not getting any prettier on your lap, you know.” 

The champagne turning in his mouth is oddly stale and bitter, and Jinyoung ignores the way Jaebeom is suddenly curling closer, pressing himself wordlessly to his chest, as he simply plucks a fresh glass from a passing waiter. 

“Go on then,” and the voice that comes from his mouth doesn’t sound like his own, “what are you waiting for? Go play with the others.” 

He watches, fingers slipping, grasping uncontrollably at some sense of control, as Park Jinyoung pushes Jaebeom’s numb, clinging body from his lap in favor of taking a cold, meaningless sip of his drink. 

He can only watch his father’s dead expression steal so perfectly over his own face as Jaebeom falls at his feet, wide-eyed and still helplessly reaching out for him. 

(Jaebeom whines through clenched teeth as hands seize upon his hips, spreading him open for a thick waist. He turns away even as a mouth bears down on his cheek, trailing sloppy kisses from his jaw to his throat. 

He’s still adamantly pleading for Jinyoung. 

“Come on, I’ll make you feel good. You’re so broad, you’d open right up for me, wouldn’t you?” The alpha punctures his words with a thrust, and Jaebeom shakes, pushing against his shoulders as he tries so hard to meet Jinyoung’s eyes.

This time, Jinyoung does look at him with a tilted stare, resting his chin on a loose fist, as if Jaebeom meant nothing more to him than the carpet beneath his shoes. 

He smiles, perfect and poised, with his eyes crinkling into those cute whiskers. “You can be rougher, you know. He can take more than other omegas.” 

Jaebeom isn’t much for your typical omega, he knows that. But maybe - maybe he had allowed himself to think that he could be what he was with Jinyoung because Jinyoung could see _him,_ everything behind the act, the empty spaces that didn’t belong between jagged edges. 

Maybe, he realizes, letting his head go limp against the floor, maybe he was wrong about him, about everything between them. 

Jinyoung only continues to stare at him, openly empty and so, so cold). 

Jinyoung doesn’t know who it is that is reclining into the chair, lips pressed together calmly as he continues to watch around the curved glass rim. 

(“Open up, I know you can take it,” he calls idly as a rough hand presses Jaebeom, gasping, onto a hard cock by the back of his neck. The hand grabs messily at a curtain of soft curls there, forcing him down. 

The edges of Jaebeom’s pink mouth already bear painful stretch marks, but he listens to Jinyoung, opening up further, as much as he can, as tears leak silently from his eyes). 

-

(Jaebeom doesn’t know who he is as he’s pushed past his own limit again and again. Only that he can hear Jinyoung’s cool, measured voice talking to him through the haze, and Jinyoung is telling him to take it as best as he can. 

So he listens, does his best for Jinyoung, and lets himself be used for Jinyoung’s sake). 

— and it is only then, when Jaebeom is splayed open and his blank, swollen eyes are looking through Jinyoung and all his hollow anger that Jinyoung breaks. It’s been too long, and it’s too late, for him to realize how far he’s come to truly ruining the one thing he loves. 

“Enough.” He sweeps between them, stepping over Jaebeom’s stained, heaving body.

“What,” the alpha with his dick half-out smirks. “Park Jinyoung finally wants his turn?” He doesn’t move out from between Jaebeom’s bare legs.

“ _Enough_.” Jinyoung is unblinking as he stares them down, at everyone who’s touched Jaebeom, who’s left him like this. He wants to burn the room down with everything inside, but he only waits, watching the crowd scatter before his feet. 

He cradles Jaebeom to him, not caring that his father’s eyes are on him the entire time. 

In the car ride back, Yoongi doesn’t say a word as Jaebeom wraps his trembling body around Jinyoung and Jinyoung desperately does the same. Even as Jaebeom’s legs grow cold against the leather seats, Jinyoung only strips off his jacket and covers them, before crowding Jaebeom even closer to his chest than before. 

Jaebeom shakes silently the entire time, unable to let go of the collar of Jinyoung’s crumpled shirt. 

-

In the darkness of Jinyoung’s bedroom, he tries to settle Jaebeom down alone, if only to let him get some rest — away from Jinyoung. 

Jaebeom remains firmly latched to his shirt, and he drags Jinyoung down to him with both hands. 

So Jinyoung stays close at his side because Jaebeom’s small shivers and panicked hiccups seem to fade as Jinyoung presses incomprehensible apologies into his nape. Despite everything, it’s as if he still needs Jinyoung’s touch. 

“ _i’m sorry_ ,” he whispers, prays, promises over and over again, gently brushing his fingers through Jaebeom’s shorter hairs, combing them free from the collar. 

Jaebeom doesn’t speak, his back turned the entire time, but he clutches Jinyoung’s arm to him, desperate and unyielding. 

Through the night, the cocoon of Jinyoung’s bed and the combined scent of lemon-grass and magnolia settles over them, and slowly some semblance of peace makes Jinyoung begin to nod off. 

Jaebeom’s voice is a hollow whisper that cuts blindly through the darkness. 

“I didn’t want to lie to you for so long.” 

Jinyoung holds him fiercely. “It’s - it’s okay.” In truth, the thought of it still makes him feel like he’s been scraped open - but it’s only a phantom pain, he tells himself. If he presses his finger on it for long enough, it’ll eventually go away. 

“I thought,” Jaebeom shifts slightly, as if unsure to finally press closer or move away, “I thought if I pretended for a bit longer, I could stay with you just a bit longer too.” 

“Like living a different life.” Jinyoung recalls their conversation over muted summer pop, Jaebeom’s hand, unsure, but still searching out his. 

“Yeah,” Jaebeom laughs, stuttering, hoarse and a little broken, “that’s right.” 

Jinyoung covers Jaebeom’s hand with his own, _i’m sorry._

Jaebeom laces their fingers together, their knuckles lodged together in a painful lattice. _i’m sorry, too._

Between them, there’s an exchange of regrets, that none of this could turn out like their childhood dreams beneath the promise of yellow sunshine in an open sky. 

Jinyoung falls asleep with his face buried deep in Jaebeom’s shoulder and wakes to the morning sun flooding the other side of the bed. In the space where Jaebeom used to be, Jinyoung finds the sweetest hints of warm lemon-grass, and he allows himself to doze off for just a few minutes longer. 

_**when our end gets messed up on a**[ **premeditated lie**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CphrtMuVQU) _

Jackson is nervously pondering over how he’s going explain himself out of this mess, why he’s somewhere where he shouldn’t be, when a plaintive voice simply calls out to him— 

“Come in!”

Rushing past the unlocked door, there’s Jaebeom-hyung, sprawled over a couch as he looks back at Jackson with a tired but forever expectant stare. 

Jackson sheepishly perches over the opposite arm of the couch. “Sorry, hyung- I-” 

Jaebeom only pulls him down, and Jackson goes, slowly but inevitably flopping onto the cushion. He peers up, ready to be reprimanded, but Jaebeom only tilts his head lightly, huffing an exasperated smile at him. 

“I thought you might visit soon.” 

“-I’m so sorry for breaking the rules, but-” Jackson claps his palms together once, bowing in place. 

“Just tell Youngjae, next time he can mind his own business.” 

Jackson gapes dumbly up at Jaebeom. “How did you know?” 

As always, the workings of Jackson’s mind are simple plans laid out in Jaebeom’s hands. Jaebeom only purses his lips at him. “Intuition, I suppose.” 

It’s an awkward pause between them. Jaebeom seems to be distracted by the interplay of sunshine through his blinds, and Jackson doesn't know where to start. It’s been so long since he’s seen Jaebeom -- _how is hyung doing? Is he eating well? Is everything almost over? Does hyung miss me?_

_Is hyung okay?_

Jaebeom, for the most part, seems the same. His loose hair is worn down and curling into the collar of his large hoodie, looking for all the world like he might doze off on a warm Sunday afternoon. Jackson has missed seeing him like this, has missed the domesticity of life with Jaebeom in it. 

Simply, he scooches up to Jaebeom and whispers with bright, glimmering eyes, “Hyung, can I hug you?” 

Jaebeom startles a little, blinking away dusty sunspots, but then he’s grinning so wide with his eyes crinkling shut. “Of course.” 

He opens his arms and before long, Jackson is latched around his shoulders, half-sprawled across his lap. They don’t fit so well together anymore, but Jackson buries away the odd edges in the all-encompassing familiarity of Jaebeom’s light, sweet scent, the cushy weight of his cheek resting against Jackson’s forehead. 

He waits a few moments before deciding to brave the awkwardness. “I missed you hyung.” 

“I did too, Jackson,” Jaebeom replies without pause, humming gently over Jackson’s head. 

“How, how is it all?” He extricates himself from their uncomfortably twisted position, but leaves a loose grip trailing around Jaebeom’s arm. He wants Jaebeom to be honest with him, but he also wants to see him smile, nice and easy, and tell Jackson that it’ll be over soon so he can come back home to him. 

Instead, Jaebeom’s drowsy expression only shutters closed. He turns away, his hair falling briskly over one cheek. 

“It’s - it’s just difficult,” he breathes, shoulders tensing before releasing with a tiny sigh. 

Jackson is suddenly urgent. “What do you mean?” He’s scrabbling at Jaebeom’s arm, trying to get the older man to face him, but Jaebeom only seems to lean away, even more reluctant. 

But Jackson is adamant - he _needs_ to know. “Please, hyung, did Park Jinyoung hurt you?” 

“Jackson - I,” and Jaebeom is slowly wincing away from him, from how Jackson is practically pressed up against him, his breath grazing over his cheek, his arm now firmly caught in his grasp. There’s never been the strongest definition of personal space with the younger man, but now Jackson’s wide, searching gaze is almost too much. 

He looks away completely. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Hyung-” Jaebeom squeezes his eyes shut, presses his lips together as tightly as possible, but nothing he does can truly brace him for the terrible awareness of Jackson’s next question. 

“...what are those marks on your neck?” 

And Jaebeom realizes how loose his hoodie must sit on his body, how the wide neck would easily slip down with some affectionate tousling, how everything might look in the bright daylight-

He tries to tug the neckline back up, tries desperately to stall the inevitable, but he’s never been able to win against Jackson, not when he gets so single-mindedly focused on one thing-

“Jackson, stop-”

There’s weak, flailing hands, but Jackson pushes them away without any effort. He can only see the rash red line marring the expanse of Jaebeom’s pale neck, and _he needs to know_. 

“Hyung, just let me-”

“Jackson, please - listen-” 

“No, I have to because you never tell me anything hyung— ”

“Stop, stop, _please don’t_ —” 

And Jackson only sees past his own blind determination when hyung begs, when Jaebeom-hyung is sprawled underneath him, his own hand rucking the hoodie up his bare chest, the other firmly gripping both wrists together. 

It is bad. Red and bruised purple dot the soft curves of his stomach, some deeper and darker, others fading into sickly yellow-green around his hips. Around his neck is the harsh red imprint of a collar, and in the curve of his right shoulder, the shining patched-over skin of a healing bite scar. 

It’s even worse as Jackson realizes Jaebeom is crying, tears leaking from his eyes onto the couch, pleading incomprehensibly with Jackson in a small, shaking voice he has never heard before -

“-don’t look at me like that Jackson, I’m— I’m not like that, I’m your hyung, _please_ -”

He chokes off another broken sob, trying to curl in on himself, and it’s the first time Jackson has ever seen him so vulnerable, so helpless. 

It’s the first and only time Jackson has truly been the one to make him cry. 

He quickly lets go, stumbling away entirely, but he can’t go back anymore. They’re never going to return to life before this — the shared meals on rooftops during lunch breaks, playful hugs as they part at their respective apartment doors, and lounging together with only the noise of the TV to mark their Sunday afternoons. 

It’s all replaced with the image of Jaebeom struggling beneath him, bared, delicate, _omega_ , as Jackson had pushed too much, too far past what hyung could handle. He had hurt him without realizing it. 

Jaebeom immediately presses his palms over his face, stifling the sounds falling uncontrollably from his mouth, until it’s only slow, shuddering gasps. 

He finally looks at Jackson, where the younger is caught between running in shame and trying to reach out to him again. 

He looks at Jackson as if it was the first time he couldn’t understand him, and Jackson truly feels something distant shift and break between them, a great fault gaping open beneath their feet. 

“I think you should go.” 

Jackson nods once, numb. 

“I’m so sorry hyung.” 

He’s turning away, retracing his steps to the door, closing it quietly with stiff hands. The last thing he sees is something he plays over and over again on empty nights to replace the dreams that inevitably do not come. His final glimpse is of Jaebeom wiping away a fresh set of tears as he mouths quietly to himself: _i’m sorry, too._

**_take a deep[breath](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iSlfF8TQ9k), hold it until it hurts, until it hurts a little more -_ **

“Here again, huh?” Jinyoung takes a seat at the same park bench overlooking the clear spring river, laughing slightly. 

A hint of a closed smile pulls at the corners of Jaebeom’s lips. “Don’t freak out on me again?”

“No promises,” Jinyoung scoffs, but he only crosses his legs, settling himself primly in place. 

Neither of them look at each other, with Jinyoung staring at the glittering landscape of the city across the river and Jaebeom blinking at the light through the overlapping magnolias above head, but it goes unsaid, the tentative distance left between them on the bench. 

It’s new, careful, and even as their hands are automatically drawn together - they don’t touch for now. 

The wind whistles through like the trails of a flute from some faraway land, and the clean scent of spring blooms peacefully under open skies. 

“I’ve thought about what you said. About everything between us.” Despite the heaviness between them, all the hidden pains and implications, Jinyoung finds a lightness inside him. It eases into his chest, makes him breathe in deeply if only to enjoy the sensation of exhaling after. 

Jaebeom seems to understand his resolve, the quiet lull of an inevitable storm. 

Jinyoung takes another breath, short and direct, and this time, he holds his gaze steady. “I’ll do what I have to. I want to go with you.” 

He reaches for Jaebeom’s hand, and Jaebeom carefully returns the hold, tense, and yet urgent enough so that Jinyoung can't slip away. 

“I’m so glad-,” they don’t move, their hands slowly connecting them, but Jaebeom is trembling minutely, his voice wavering.

“I’m so glad,” he repeats, steady but suspiciously muffled for a second beneath his jacket sleeve. 

And Jinyoung, his chest aches, wanting so much to erase everything between them so that he can simply pull Jaebeom to him again, say everything he couldn’t into the honest press of their bodies. For all their odd ends and jagged edges, Jinyoung has always thought they fit together perfectly. 

He finally turns to look at Jaebeom, and Jaebeom looks back, light and fragile with hope brimming over, like shades of the morning sun reflected in his eyes. 

“I’ll get you out of there, Jinyoung.” He clenches his hand so closely around Jinyoung’s, tight, tight enough to draw him across the remaining space. “I promise. You’ll be free to go wherever you want, and he’ll never be able to reach you again.” 

_I don’t care_ , Jinyoung wants to say, wrapping his arm around Jaebeom’s shoulder, burying his closed eyes against his neck. Their interlaced hands shake between them, digging into the wooden bench, but Jinyoung’s doesn’t care about his freedom, about his name. 

“I want to go with you.” _Let me hold on, just a little longer_ , he curls even tighter around Jaebeom, awkward and bent atop the flat park bench, but it’s all he needs in this life - _just a bit more, maybe forever with you._

It takes Jaebeom many stops and starts as he tries to unravel his fingers from Jinyoung’s clenched hold, but when he does, he only slips both arms around the younger man, taking him in easily, entirely. He rests his head over Jinyoung’s, stroking absentmindedly across his nape. 

“Always.” 

It’s a promise made this time under a blue spring sky with the wind stealing across their lips. 

To Jinyoung, it’s as if he’s still holding his breath, letting it ache deep inside him so that he can feel it, the way it feels to be promised forever by Jaebeom. 

“Always.” He fiercely returns, pulling Jaebeom’s mouth to his. 

And somehow, between them, they’re both still holding one last breath. 

**_-then let it out a little more, it’s alright to be scared. it’s alright, breathe, i’ll hold you_ **

The plan is actually rather simple. Each of his father’s meetings is filled with a collection of illegal dealings, whether that be actual capital or in this case - people. 

Jinyoung will simply give an anonymous tip with the exact date, time, and location, and be willing to turn himself over for his own arrest along with everyone else present. It’s only a small start, but with what they uncover at one meeting, Jaebeom’s department can undoubtedly trace everything back to his father’s name and the entire web will soon begin to burn from the outside in. 

And if his father sees him attending with the same omega at his side, well that’s just his preference isn’t it. 

(There’s no way they could fail - they _can’t_ fail. But Jinyoung still finds himself undoing and redoing his tie again and again in the mirror. 

This time Jaebeom is at his side, a perfect vision of soft obedience with his loosely curled black hair and white blouse billowing open around his shoulders. He blinks sleepily up at Jinyoung. 

“Nervous?” Jinyoung relaxes slightly as a hint of the sharpness he knows flits across Jaebeom’s face. 

“A little.” Jinyoung sits at his side, tie crumpled in his grip. He’s thinking about every second of every minute of every potential interaction, how each could branch into an infinity of other causal events that don’t lead to the single perfect outcome he’s looking for.

He’s thinking about one of the few loose ends he has left in this life. 

“I’m worried.”

Jaebeom opts to ignore the tie to pull at Jinyoung’s rumpled collar instead, humming as his fingers neatly brush over his skin. “About everything?”

“About my half-brother - Yugyeom.” Jinyoung glances at him then quickly ducks away, oddly boyish in his earnesty. He nods once awkwardly at Jaebeom’s questioning stare. “He’s a good kid.” 

Jaebeom can’t stop the laugh that pushes at his lips. He always knew it - a genuinely embarrassed Jinyoung has always been adorably lying in wait under his veneer of constant snark and judgment. 

“ _Softie_ ,” he mumbles under his breath as he messes up Jinyoung’s perfectly coiffed hair. 

He quickly squeezes Jinyoung to him, silencing his grumbles with a gentle whisper, his hand softening in his hair. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll be okay too. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Jinyoung nods stiffly under his palm. 

“Anyways-” Jaebeom quips suddenly. He takes the chance to clap his palms bluntly around Jinyoung’s cheeks, and the younger man blinks up, wide-eyed and innocent in his surprise. 

“Forget the tie,” Jaebeom pulls the offending strip of cloth free, tossing it to the floor. He tugs once more at Jinyoung’s collar, before tilting his head back with a satisfied huff. 

“You _do_ look better without it.” 

This time, Jinyoung is inclined to agree). 

When the police finally storm through the winding halls that have long played spectator to the enseamed dirt and blood left behind by men like his father, Jinyoung is waiting with Jaebeom standing at his side. 

Their fingers clutch at one another even as the room goes up in chaos, as shouts echo and voices mix in alarming bursts of anger, fear, pain. Even as they are both forced to their knees, as their straining hands are pulled apart under metal cuffs, they’re still together, side by side. 

“You know,” Jinyoung mentions casually, peeking at Jaebeom from the corner of his eye, “I don’t think I’ll get off lightly with just probation. After all, I did have to pay you for your ‘services.’ ” 

Jaebeom glances over, mirroring the same mirth even as he strains against the floor, bound and kneeling. “Well, I did offer them at cost.” 

They share one last look as they’re being hauled away, at once silent understanding and a desperate, reaching farewell that goes beyond the heat of the moment. _We’ll be together_ , Jaebeom seems to promise, again and again, holding Jinyoung’s gaze as long as possible, until he finally disappears behind the mass of flashing sirens and harsh radio communication. 

Jinyoung repeats it to himself as he stares into the feverish light of his holding cell, one breath held, over and over. 

And when they sit him across an interrogation table with an empty one-way mirror behind him, he takes in one last breath - thinking about how close Jaebeom is, most likely in the room right next to him, how he’ll wait as long as he has to and how it won’t be long at all until they’re leaving together, hand-in-hand, to _home-_

He faces the blank faces of the officers before him, and finally, finally lets it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo that was a lot wasn't it? sorry if u guys went through emotional whiplash but we're so so close! next chapter will be the last and it'll just be a short epilogue!  
> I'll see y'all there! thank u for reading this far and please let me know how it was!
> 
> twitter: [*](https://twitter.com/happycakecries)


	5. epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! thanks for reading :)

**_you & me, me & you — with all promises kept, i came back to you_ **

Jackson bounces nervously, crouched in front of Jaebeom-hyung’s closed door. From the inside, mind you. 

It’s only been a few months since he last saw him, but to Jackson, it’s been so long - so long since the last time he had barged in on Jaebeom’s cover, since word of the final arrest came through, where all Jackson heard of him came from scraps of official reports. 

It’s been too long since Jackson had hurt him, had messed up everything good between them.

Despite that, he’s had to watch over Jaebeom’s empty apartment under the official designation of being his closest existing family. 

_Family_. He doesn’t know if that’s what he would still call their makeshift unit of two, if that’s what Jaebeom would want anymore. 

He’s not sure what he even wants anymore. In the beginning, it had felt like guilt when he found himself dawdling alone in Jaebeom’s apartment after attempting to lock up for the night. 

Instead of leaving, he had hesitated before the closed door for just a second too long. 

There was no one to tell him off, but it had felt so wrong the first time, to still try and bask in the comfort of old memories, to feel like Jaebeom might appear at any moment, sleepy and beckoning Jackson into his arms with his wonderful scent enveloping them — when Jaebeom wasn’t here anymore to tell him it was okay, to forgive him for being weak. 

Even as he tried to hold himself back, Jackson found that he slept even less in his own apartment, waking blearily to the odd hours of the moon still outside. In the end, it became a habit to head home to hyung’s empty room and curl up on the couch, night by night trying to find the last remaining traces of sugar and lemon-grass on the cushions to soothe him to sleep. 

Even with the threat of a perpetual back-ache, he didn’t dare touch the bed. 

Now, he’s waiting in his home, waiting for Jaebeom to come _home_ even though he might not, might avoid it completely knowing that Jackson is there, waiting for him.

 _He would know I’m here_ , Jackson guesses, and he’s not sure if that reassures him or makes him panic more, that Jaebeom-hyung could still read him like an open book and use that to finally leave him behind. 

Should he just go, before Jaebeom has to see him and look at him with real pain and sadness in his eyes and tell him to leave for real this time, or-

Three sharp knocks ring out above his ducked head. 

He forgets every worry, every buzzing word in pure white exhilaration as he jumps to his feet, stumbling over the doorstep-

Jaebeom is waiting for him with a gentle smile. He’s cut his hair, the soft, almost curling locks shorn away along the sides, leaving only wisps of bangs over his forehead and his neck entirely bare. He looks tentative, boyish. It makes parts of him change, highlights the odd edges and blunt sharpness to his face Jackson has never noticed before. 

Then, his smile is growing until his cheeks are softly pushing his eyes closed, and he holds out an open hand -

“I’m back, Jackson-ah.” 

— and Jackson lurches into him without hesitation. 

They embrace, tighter, even closer than before, but in the end, it’s not going to be the same between them anymore, their idea of _family_. 

Especially with the wary-eyed boy standing still at Jaebeom’s other side. He watches Jackson bury his face into Jaebeom’s chest, but he doesn’t let go of their entwined hands. 

Park Jinyoung, Jackson considers, still firmly wrapped around Jaebeom. Jinyoung only returns his stare, something hesitant and lost curling over his delicate features. 

Jackson doesn’t know him, barely trusts him. But still — Jaebeom kept his promise, only he returned with Jinyoung in tow.

Jackson watches him openly for a second longer, watches as Jinyoung flushes and seems to shrink away, so unbefitting the way he holds himself at Jaebeom’s side, as if he’s always meant to be there - and before he can regret it, he yanks Park Jinyoung’s stiff body over into their hug. 

Jaebeom laughs out loud, open and delightfully uncontrolled, and he squishes the two of them even closer together between his broad shoulders. 

Jinyoung's scent is nothing like the loud mix of Jackson’s fried peppercorn softened by the warm undertones of Jaebeom’s fragrant lemon-grass. He sniffs hesitantly at sharp magnolia, and Jinyoung’s lip quirks, a startled hint of a smile. 

Jackson doesn’t know how they’re going to fit together, how their scents might blend into the space of three overlapping lives, but he obstinately closes his eyes and holds tight to the two bodies next to him. 

“You came back to me, hyung,” he says, knocking his forehead resolutely against Jaebeom’s chest. “That’s all that matters.” 

“That’s right.” Jaebeom’s words are a warm reassurance, a heartbeat beneath his cheek. Jaebeom clenches his hand around Jinyoung’s, wraps his arm around Jackson’s back, and finally, he can breathe out — 

“I always keep my promises, don’t I?” 

Jinyoung and Jackson hold on to him in return, just a little tighter, for as long as they can — and then for just a moment longer. 

Beyond them, the sky fills with sunshine, slow and sweet with only the slightest hints of grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow and that's the end (for now)! it's been a long time since I wrote fic and writing this full-length one with its own self-contained characters and complete story arc was really an experience - a strangely bittersweet one :). while this main ordeal may have wrapped up, there's still so much more to be said b/t these three, so I'm sure there will be future timestamps to develop the new relationship b/t them!  
> I hope to be back w more fic in the future and even better stories so please keep an eye out and thank you for staying with this story till the end! 
> 
> twitter: [*](https://twitter.com/happycakecries)


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